


The Hellhound of Billion

by LegendaryBiologist13



Category: Gungrave
Genre: Action, Blood and Gore, Drama, Family, Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Mystery, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Physical Disability, Platonic Relationships, Protectiveness, Revenge, Science Fiction, Supernatural Elements, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendaryBiologist13/pseuds/LegendaryBiologist13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[GGAM - GoaL] Brandon was in charge of investigating the appearance of necrolyzed dogs in Billion. Little did he know that these beasts would involve him in an unresolved cycle of revenge and endanger his well-being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Guardian of a Lifetime series, the fourth sub-series of Gungrave: Aftermath. Set before Brave Heart.
> 
> Cover and illustrations (coming soon) by S0rahana.

Brandon kept looking back. Although their van had entered the ground level of Millennion Tower's parking lot, the big black mutt kept following them. This odd behavior, in addition to its red eyes and overflowing saliva, fueled Brandon's desire to leave the vehicle and attack the beast. No normal mongrels acted that way; heck, this even looked unusual for a rabid dog.

"What's wrong?" Mika, who had been sitting beside him with a bag of clean clothes, asked. He didn't answer, prompting her to look through the rear window. "That's a strange dog."

The mongrel suddenly halted, shifting its gaze to an oncoming Millennion guardsman. Brandon was momentarily puzzled, but he quickly cast his doubt aside when the hound lunged at the guard. Dark fate would befall the man - a member of Millennion - if Brandon didn't stop the dog.

He unlocked the car door and pushed it open. As he hopped out of the van, he quickly slammed it back shut. His child's safety also mattered, blood relation be damned.

Having practiced running with his prosthetic leg for at least a year, he could keep himself from falling as he sprinted. Despite that, he still couldn't reach the dog and the guardsman in time. The canine had sunk its teeth into the guard's thigh, bringing about a painful scream.

The guardsman pulled back his bitten leg to no avail; instead, more blood oozed out and stained both the dog's fangs and the guard's pants. "Bastard!" The man took a pistol out of his suit and fired at the beast.

Brandon's eye widened at the sight of dented shells falling off the hound's body. Like him, this mongrel resisted bullets. _A necrolyzed being_ , he concluded, rushing towards the canine and the trembling man.

With a bead of sweat dribbling down his contorted face, the guard turned to Brandon and yelled, "Brandon, get rid of this monster!"

Raising his hand and drawing his extended fingers together, he approached the mongrel. His knife hand struck the back of the dog's neck, loosening the beast's grip on the guardsman.

"You go see a doctor." Brandon sent the hound flying a few feet away with a foot to the underbelly. "And report this to Mr. Biscoe."

"Yes." The man limped away. "Thanks for saving me, buddy."

Saying nothing to the withdrawing guard, Brandon stared at the mongrel. It still lay on the ground, breathing heavily. The blow to its spine earlier should've disrupted its body function, though the paralysis probably wouldn't last long.

Brandon charged and leapt into the air. Leg outstretched, he dived at the dog. However, the mongrel rolled to its left side as Brandon's sound foot came down. Chunks of concrete flew everywhere instead of skull fragments and blood.

He could no longer see the hound.

Suddenly, a pricking sensation jolted from his calf. Looking down, he found the mongrel gnawing at his lower leg. Because he - unlike a Millennion guardsman - could barely feel pain, he swung his leg forcefully. The dog earned a piece of bloody cloth and meat in its mouth as a result.

In an instant, Brandon brought his foot down on the beast's head. A sea of crimson formed beneath him.

* * *

_"Brandon, the transfusion is done!"_

Grunting, he opened his eye at Mika's cheery voice. Steel walls, dim lights, armrests... Wait, he had been sleeping on the armchair of his trailer all the time? But the whole incident with the necrolyzed dog felt so real. The sensation of blood trickling down his calf lingered on his sound leg.

Looking down, he saw no rip in his pants. He immediately palpated his calf. Nope. His fingers detected neither bulges from wound dressings nor openings from lacerations. _Just a dream_ , he thought, and the discomfort of his limb faded.

As he brushed his face with his only hand, he heard Mika say, "You look like you've just had a nightmare."

Nightmare? Not quite. A small chunk of his flesh might have gone into the mongrel's maw, but he had crushed the poor dog's skull under his foot and saved the day. However, that didn't bother him as much as how tangible his dream had been. Maybe these beasts did exist in the town, and nobody was safe.

Instead of answering Mika, Brandon scanned the surroundings. William stood beside him, throwing a pair of latex gloves into the trash can. When he turned to Brandon, he snickered. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to tell us about your dream."

After returning his focus to the smiling Mika, Brandon mumbled, "A necrolyzed dog."

"Necrolyzed?" Both Mika and William exclaimed at the same time, with Mika's smile fading and eyes widening.

Brandon nodded. "It bit my leg."

"That's a nightmare!"

"But I killed it."

"That is still a nightmare, Brandon." Mika placed a hand below the band-aid on his forearm. "Did you sleep well?"

Brandon only chuckled. By paying attention to him during the transfusion, Mika should've been able to judge whether he slept soundly or not earlier. Most of the time, receiving the second unit of whole blood would remind him of his incomplete tasks and snap him out of his slumber.

"What a weird dream." Standing in front of a metallic desk, William picked up a bottle of translucent liquid – the flesh softener solution, the chemical agent that allowed the entry of steel needles into a necrolyzer's body – on the table. "I thought those monsters were no more since Harry died." Keeping it in his briefcase, he continued, "Or maybe being a necrolyzer made you dream about those necrolyzed dogs?"

With his eyelid and lips drooping, Brandon looked away. His dreams, especially nightmares, generally happened in the future. When he was still alive, Harry once fired a gun at him in his dream, and years after that, it happened in reality. Brandon still had a missing left eye and the gunshot scars on his torso to remind him of that eerie thing.

Returning his attention to a confused Mika, he finally muttered, "Experience and intuition."

Briefcase shut and locked, William told Brandon, "Well, don't worry. Dreams are rarely true." He held the bag in his hand. "But if those dogs do exist and they bite you, call me. I'll vaccinate you. Be fast, because getting the vaccine will take some time."

As Brandon nodded, Mika answered William with a "Yes."

"All right." He walked towards the trailer's exit door. Gripping the door lever, he added, "See ya." And he left.

Once the steel door had slammed shut, Mika sported the smile she usually wore when greeting Brandon. "Do you want to continue sleeping?"

Brandon sat still, racking his brain for incomplete tasks. Cleaning the trailer? He surveyed the trailer for a moment and found no rubbish on the floor. Bringing dirty clothes to the laundry? Looking back at the row of boxes, he saw none of them was overflowing with grimy apparel.

"Brandon?"

He ignored Mika and continued observing the trailer. Only when he spotted a lone piece of white bread inside a plastic wrap and an empty jar of peanut butter on the table would he speak up. "Let's go grocery shopping."

"You sure you aren't sleepy?"

Slowly rising to his feet with a thrust from his hand, he shook his head. He would rather bump his head against a pillar in the mart than having a starving Mika by his side; seeing an irritable kid grasping her own stomach often made him feel like he had shirked his responsibility as a guardian.

"Really, I don't mind if you want to sleep. We can do the shopping anytime."

He walked past Mika and towards the shoe rack beside the exit door. Picking up his black suede shoes, he looked over his shoulder. A blinking Mika remained still, but soon, she followed suit.

* * *

Brandon had always preferred going everywhere by foot; walking saved money and let him practice with his artificial leg. Only long distance, urgency, or extremely humid weather would make him ride in a car.

But today, despite the gentle breeze, he wondered if going to the convenience store by foot was a good idea. At least, being in a car would provide Mika more protection. In case necrolyzed dogs truly existed and attacked, they would have to get through a layer of glass - or metal, if they wanted more challenge – before reaching her. With those beasts stalled, Brandon would have more than enough time to send them back to Hell.

He strode down the pavement with Mika, peeking into every alleyway they encountered on the way. So far, nothing in the narrow passageways had stopped his walk. Not that the alleys hadn't piqued his interest, but he had actually ignored whatever was in there. A big black hound – the monster that appeared in his dream - had once come across his sight, but because it was too busy munching a trash can as though the metallic container was a giant cracker, Brandon didn't bother it. He might put Mika in danger if he did.

He couldn't simply report the hound to Biscoe and ask for backup either; without the proof of its existence, the mob boss probably wouldn't listen. Maybe earning a dog bite and showing it to Biscoe would do, as an injured necrolyzer usually hinted something horrible. But with Mika around, how could he possibly initiate a fight with the mongrel?

Minutes later, a large one-story building loomed before them. Through the windows, Brandon could see various packaged goods lying on display shelves. Once the automatic sliding door opened, he and Mika entered the mart.

Inside, Brandon grabbed a basket before venturing the aisles. With Mika – a substitute for his lost left hand - around, whenever either of them spotted the wanted item, he needn't put down the basket so that he could load it with goods. Her height also helped him; Brandon couldn't pick up something from the bottom of the shelves without exhausting his back.

After taking a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a carton of milk from the shelves, he headed to the cashier with Mika and placed the loaded basket on the counter. As he fished a wallet out of his pants pocket, Mika snatched it.

Looking up at him, Mika smiled. "You always look annoyed when trying to take out the money with just one hand. Let me do it for you this time, okay?"

Brandon returned the smile. Once Mika paid for the goods, he took back his wallet and returned it to his pants pocket. After picking up the shopping bag, he headed to the sliding door with her.

Outside, they retraced their steps to Millennion Tower. Unlike before, though, Brandon couldn't ignore the black mutt in the alley anymore. Hearing a woman's shriek roused him, and seeing the beast chasing the scurrying figure stimulated him further. For a moment, he realized that he would leave Mika unprotected as he went to stop the mongrel, but he wouldn't want to imagine what would happen to this skinny grey-haired woman if the dog got her.

Hunching over to hand the grocery bag to Mika, he said, "Take cover." And he streaked off without a warning.

As the hound jumped at the scooting woman, Brandon reached out his hand and seized the beast's fuzzy tail. He yanked it back, creating a distance between the beast and the old lady. "You should run," he suggested, hurling the mongrel at the wall.

The dog didn't give him the time to confirm whether the woman had escaped or not. Paws thudding off the wall, the beast launched itself back at him.

Looking at the incoming assault, Brandon shielded his face with his arm. The hound landed on his forearm, clinging to it by embedding its claws and fangs into his flesh. With gravity pulling it down, it carved larger gashes upon Brandon's skin with its nails and teeth.

Fortunately for Brandon, being a necrolyzer had turned the supposedly excruciating pain into mild irritation. Ignoring the burning and prickly sensation, he brought his bitten forearm closer to his face.

Good thing he could neither smell nor taste anything.

Brandon clamped his jaws on the upper part of the dog's head, and with a crunch, the mutt's skull gave way. Spitting out whatever he had caught in his mouth, he flung the limp body away.

Now, he only needed to go home, call the doctor, patch up his forearm, and report this case to Biscoe. However, before he could search for Mika, the little girl had rushed to him. Eyes fixed at his injuries, she called out, "Brandon, we need to treat your wounds first! They can be easily infected!"

"Let's go home," he murmured, walking past her _. I can now warn Millennion about this. I've got the proof on my forearm.  
_

Suddenly, a woman's voice spoke. It sounded too hoarse for a kid like Mika. "You may visit my house to take care of your wounds first. I live nearby."

Stopping in his tracks, Brandon turned. The raucous voice belonged to the grey-haired woman he helped earlier.

"Really, Ma'am?" Mika asked the woman.

A smile appeared on her wrinkled face. "You've saved me, and I can't thank you enough."

Together with Mika, Brandon followed the old woman whilst trying his best not to frown. Unlike Mika, who only sought the facilities to treat his injuries, Brandon couldn't bring himself to refuse a lady's kindness.

_I hope this won't take too long. If I don't report this case to Millennion ASAP, everybody in the organization will be in danger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The name of the town is never mentioned in the anime, but some sources say that the name is Billion.
> 
> 2\. Animals can be necrolyzed as well. The first thing to ever be necrolyzed is actually a dog, as seen in episode 9.
> 
> 3\. Brandon is, hilariously, kinda psychic (likely thanks to his observation). And about the dream? He dreams about Harry firing a gun at the screen in episode 6. Then in episode 14, eight years after that nightmare, Harry shoots him dead. Not too long before his death, he has known that Harry will kill him someday, which is why he asks Dr. Tokioka to necrolyze him.
> 
> 4\. If you haven't read the previous series and wonder who Dr. William is, I'm referring to the nameless scientist who talks to Biscoe about anti-necrolyze bullets in episode 25.


	2. Suspicion

The granny's behavior amused him. Even without knowing how he harassed those who owed money to Millennion's loan shark department, civilians generally avoided him. "Necrolyzers, orgmen... All reanimated corpses are monsters," they always said. "They hurt and kill a lot." However, this old lady – or better known as Sara Goh - had invited them into her house and provided them the facilities to treat his injuries.

 _If she saw how I killed the dog, she should've known what I am,_ he thought. But nevertheless, he would always accept one's act of kindness; it always warmed his heart when someone showed him benevolence.

Brandon sat on a plastic chair, his arm occupying the entire washbowl. Mika would find it easier to work this way.

Mika stood across Brandon, her hand reaching out to twist the faucet's handle. "Mrs. Sara told me to wash the wounds thoroughly with water and soap." As water flowed out of the spout, she held Brandon's forearm and let the liquid wash away the blood. Moments later, with her free hand, she picked up the bar of soap on the ledge above the washstand. "Uh, I have to scrub this against the wounds, so…I think it'll sting a little."

Brandon only chuckled. A necrolyzer couldn't sense pain properly, and having lived together with him for over a year, she should've known that. However, he quite liked it whenever she wondered if he felt pain. Her action just reminded him of Maria, her mother and his ex-lover.

Brushing the bar of soap against his injured forearm, she asked, "Does it hurt?"

The image of Maria swabbing the bleeding scrapes on his elbow with alcohol emerged in his mind. He could hear Maria's soft voice say, "Does it hurt?" as well, which made him smile. Despite knowing that he was a thug with dulled pain perception, thanks to his frequent street brawls, Maria would continue to ask him that question. _She's just that caring._

"Brandon?"

Mika's voice snapped him out of his daydream. Looking at her, he simply grinned. That should tell her that the cleansed gashes didn't bother him even a bit.

"I see." She smiled, putting back the bar of soap. After rinsing the suds and turning off the water, she grabbed the gauze pad from the ledge above her and pressed it against his drenched forearm.

When Mika took away the piece of soaked fabric, Brandon observed the wounds along with her. Blood still escaped from the gashes in a small amount, so she took a new gauze pad and began applying pressure to his forearm again.

Minutes later, the bleeding stopped, and Mika changed the used gauze pad with a new and larger one. After spreading antiseptic solution on its surface, with the disinfected side facing down, she covered the gashes with it.

Holding his arm with a hand, Mika instructed, "Don't move." She then took a roll of bandage from the ledge and began wrapping Brandon's forearm with it. "Tell me if it's too tight."

Brandon nodded. Many minutes passed with him doing nothing; although he wanted to go home quickly just so that he could report to Biscoe about the dog, he never thought of barking at Mika to do everything quickly. How on earth could a little kid bandage a massive forearm quickly without causing a problem?

Soon, Mika sealed the wound dressing with a tape. "This should do," she said, gathering all the grimy gauze pads and throwing them into the dustbin below the washstand.

Tilting and swinging his bandaged arm, Brandon smiled broadly. With the unimpeded movement, he could work – be it daily chores or simply filing a report about the necrolyzed dog to Millennion - with no hindrance. Without saying anything, he placed a hand on Mika's head, etching a smile on her face with his tacit gratitude.

"I think we should call Dr. William now. He said getting the vaccine would take some time." Mika turned on the water again and washed her hands. "You bring your mobile phone?"

Brandon replied with a nod, slipping his hand into his pants pocket.

* * *

When they went out of the bathroom, Sara handed Mika the loaded grocery bag. "You should find a doctor for a vaccination."

"We're doing that soon," Mika responded, walking away from the old lady with Brandon. "Thanks for everything, Ma'am." At the same time, Brandon looked over his shoulder and flashed a smile at Sara.

Approaching the living room, Brandon suddenly halted. A picture of a man in a toga and a graduation cap caught his interest; the brown hair, narrow eyes, and oval face seemed familiar, but when had he seen this man? Had he once intimidated him for not paying his debt to the loan shark department perhaps? But if he were one, Sara probably wouldn't have welcomed him and Mika.

"Brandon?" Mika asked. "You look interested in the photo."

"That's my son, Charles," Sara's hoarse voice came from behind. "He's a doctor."

 _A doctor?_ Brandon turned to Sara. "Ma'am, where does he work at?"

"A clinic at Kite Street. It's further than his old workplace. And he gets less money, too." Brandon remained silent, allowing Sara to add, "He once worked at Millennion's research facility. His boss, Harry MacDowell, paid a lot. But then, a man known as 'Beyond the Grave' destroyed the lab. He lost his job as a result."

Something clicked.

* * *

_Brandon stepped into the lab, his pair of Cerberus handguns in his hands. He stared at the gigantic capsules around him, inside which a slumbering orgman - a bald muscle-bound titan of a man - drifted in effervescent green liquid. Destroying this place would stop the production of orgmen and bring him one step closer to dethroning Harry. A man who had murdered him and his loved ones needed a lesson, past friendship be damned._

_"It's Beyond the Grave!" Laguna Glock, one of the men in lab coats, exclaimed. "Summon the orgmen!"_

_As a number of doctors scrambled across the room, Brandon sent hails of bullets at two gigantic canisters. Fissures forked across the capsules, and the green fluid burst out along with the shattered glass._

_Unlike what Brandon had thought, his assault didn't prevent the doctors from activating the orgmen. With the containers destroyed, the silver-skinned men came to life by themselves. Roaring, they stood up, red eyes locked at Brandon._

_"You fool." Laguna laughed, running to the back of the awakened orgmen for a shelter. "You activated them for us."_

_The orgmen leapt. Holding his handguns with his arms crossed above the wrists, Brandon fired. Big bullets pummeled the oncoming silver-skinned men, carving cracks upon their bodies until they crumbled._

_Laguna stood still, frowning at the orgmen's remains. "You…" He turned around and ran off. "Just wait. More will come at you."_

_Wait? No, he'd better search for some chemicals to start an inferno and end everything. As he walked ahead, Brandon's ears registered another roar from his right side. Turning and casting a fierce glare at the incoming orgman, he fired his guns simultaneously until the orgman fell apart._

_Stepping past the heap of crystalline fragments, Brandon spotted a brown-haired man leaning against a fiberglass table. Shivering with his narrow eyes tightened at Brandon, the man yelled, "Leave this lab! You're just ruining everybody's lives here! We'll all be jobless and can no longer earn a living! Don't you have a heart?"_

_Brandon looked at the racks of liquid-laden cylinders on the table before returning his gaze to the man. Something felt fishy here; Brandon's gut told him that this man was defending the test tubes. Maybe they contained volatile chemicals?_

_He would try shooting them; if they didn't explode, then he'd just search the lab again. Pointing his guns at the racks, Brandon glowered at the man. If the doctor didn't want a few bullets punching clean through his body, he'd better scram._

_Face twisting in terror, the man immediately scurried with shaky legs. "You m-monster!"_

_A few bullets struck the test tubes, and a massive explosion set the whole lab ablaze. Never mind about jobless people; if he paid too much attention to them, he would lose his chance to overthrow Harry._

* * *

"You know him?" Sara suddenly asked, snapping Brandon out of his reverie.

Brandon shook his head; unless he wanted to upset Sara, he'd better not tell the truth. He wished he had listened to Charles, put his grudge aside and cared more about others' well-being that time. Charles probably only wanted to take care of his mother, an old woman, and the realization stung him briefly. And the fact that he never managed to get his revenge done amplified the pain in his chest. _  
_

"I see," she said. "Well, he hasn't come home since yesterday."

"You know what happened to him?" Mika questioned.

"I don't know. Called him, but he never answered." With a crumpled face, Sara looked down. "I hope he's still out there, hiding from these dogs."

"There are more of them?"

Sara nodded. "I saw a pack of them tearing some poor cats to shreds yesterday. That was why I postponed my shopping until this afternoon. Thought they'd left this area earlier."

"Um…" Mika looked up at Brandon. She didn't need to speak; from the hopeful look on her face, Brandon knew that she wanted him to find Charles. He responded to her silent request with a nod.

Smiling, she returned her attention to Sara. "Ma'am, when we find Dr. Charles, we'll tell you."

Sara raised her head. "Thank you. I don't know how to repay you two, but…you're welcome to visit my house anytime. I'll cook something for you the next time you come." She looked at Brandon. "But necrolyzers don't eat, do they?"

Brandon shook his head, and Mika spoke for him, "Their nonfunctional digestive system prevents them from eating."

"I'll only cook for you then, young lass," Sara told Mika.

"Thanks. Well, I guess it's about time." Mika turned around and began walking away. "Bye, Ma'am."

Before following Mika, Brandon waved his hand at Sara. Manners, especially towards the elderly, always mattered for him, although it depended on the people. He would never be nice to the senior citizens who refused to pay off their debt or the old-timers who betrayed Millennion.

* * *

Blinding glints of sunlight reflected off cars and windows as Brandon and Mika resumed their journey home. Unlike the previous journeys, a rush of thoughts filled Brandon's mind this time. Charles, a doctor who once worked at Millennion's research facility, went missing? And necrolyzed dogs now prowled the town? Charles might just be the mastermind behind these beasts.

However, Brandon wouldn't declare his suspicion to anybody; speaking without a concrete proof would only humiliate him instead of doing something good. So he simply paced ahead, peeking into every alleyway he saw to anticipate surprise attacks.

A ten-minute walk brought them to a skyscraper that seemed to blend into the horizon. Wide stairs lay before the automatic sliding doors of the cyan building. Without giving a second thought, he clambered up the steps.

Joining in his journey to the tower, Mika asked, "Brandon, won't it be easier if we go through the parking lot?"

"I have something to do up there."

"What is it?"

"Telling Mr. Biscoe about the necrolyzed dogs."

"Why don't you just use the phone? You can do it while resting in the trailer and waiting for Dr. William."

Looking at Mika, he shook his bandaged forearm. "The news about necrolyzed dogs is absurd. If I want Mr. Biscoe to believe in that, I have to show him the proof."

Moments passed with silence. Soon, they arrived on the top, and the automatic sliding door opened. As they entered the building, a group of men in black suits greeted them, pairs of widened eyes fixed at Brandon's bandaged arm.

"W-what happened to you?" one of them asked.

"Someone from the rival organization shot you with an anti-necrolyze rifle?"

"Tell us!"

Brandon smiled at the enthusiastic guardsmen. This would definitely ease his attempt to spread the news about the necrolyzed beasts. "A necrolyzed dog bit me."

"Necrolyzed dog?" Brandon nodded, and the guard added, "We gotta report this to the boss ASAP." Walking away, the guardsman wiggled a finger. "Let's go, Brandon. And everybody else, have at least one person escort Miss Mika to the trailer. We must stay alert."

* * *

Brandon stepped out of the elevator and into a narrow hallway with the guard; their light footsteps echoed as they walked. Security cameras hung on the ceiling, watching over the area for the non-existent guardsmen on this floor.

The guard's voice soon broke the silence. "How did you kick the dog's ass without Cerberus? Necrolyzed beings are very tough, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Brandon replied, paying attention to every single door beside him. The plaques there would help him find Biscoe. "I took a bite out of its brain."

"Man, you're such a savage." The guard laughed, delivering a friendly pat to Brandon's back. "Glad that you're on our side."

Brandon let out a sheepish grin, and quietness enveloped the area once more.

Soon, they came across a sign with the words "Millennion's Chairman and Assistant" on the wide timber door. Brandon turned to knock on the door softly, but he earned no response. Maybe Biscoe was busy? If so, Brandon would wait for a moment before knocking again.

Standing still, he saw the guard walk past him. "Maybe Boss didn't hear you." The guardsman snickered, knocking the door harder than Brandon did. "Boss! We've got important news!"

About a minute later, the door opened inward, revealing Biscoe's chubby figure. "I can hear that, you insolent kid. I was about to end the phone call from a potential business partner when Brandon first knocked the door."

"How do you know that it was Brandon who knocked on the door first?"

"You think a meek, quiet guy like him can be _that_ loud, Robert?" Biscoe turned around, wagging his hand whilst walking away from them. "Well, come in."

Brandon and Robert stepped into the office, with Brandon closing the door gently after they had all entered the room. With Biscoe guiding them, they sauntered past a few potted plants and a couch before arriving at a mahogany desk. There, Norton sat still beside a vacant swivel chair – Biscoe's seat – with his eyes fixated at the monitor of his laptop and his fingers typing at the keyboard.

Once Biscoe had settled down, he began, "Well, tell me the important news you mentioned."

"Necrolyzed dogs are in the town, Sir," Brandon answered, placing his bandaged forearm on the desk.

"Necrolyzed dogs?" Biscoe's eyes widened. Seconds later, his gaze fell to Brandon's forearm. "Your arm... It attacked you?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm..." Biscoe drummed his fingers on the table. "Must be related to the traffic accidents yesterday. The survivors said they saw big black dogs running around the streets and jumping at the vehicles. Funny how nobody thinks that those dogs may be a product of necrolyzation."

"What should we do then, Boss?" Robert chimed in.

"Hold it." Norton stopped typing and looked at Brandon with his seemingly permanent scowl. "That bandaged arm doesn't convince me that necrolyzed dogs exist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Brandon seems to be a person who can't let go of his past (which is why a bittersweet ending closes off the anime series). He has a habit of reminiscing about Maria even after breaking up with her and dying. Many episodes after he has become a necrolyzer feature flashbacks about her.
> 
> 2\. The lab flashback is set before episode 24, in which the lab is already burning and blowing up.
> 
> 3\. The style of holding two guns in cross fashion is Brandon's trademark, whether he's an undead (episode 18 onwards; episode 1 as well due to the in medias res nature of the show) or alive (episode 7).
> 
> 4\. Brandon seems to respect the elderly very much. Gary and Widge are old, and Gary is especially a douche towards Brandon. However, Brandon always lets them do as they please. He quickly gets along with the two old men as a result, and even after growing up and dying, he never forgets them. The similar thing is also reflected by his relationship with Big Daddy. In episode 6, although Brandon doesn't know how to fish, when Big Daddy asks him to go fishing with him, he just obeys.


	3. Rebel

Brandon needed no input from others. From Norton's stern face and tone, he could tell that the old man wanted to see what lay underneath the bandage. Well, if this would make Biscoe's skeptical second-in-command believe in the news, then Brandon would gladly show him his wounds. Bringing his bandaged arm closer to his face, he opened his mouth. _Glad that Mika isn't here_ , he thought, prying off the tape with his pointed lower teeth. _It's like I'm not appreciating her hard work._

"Sir, what are you doing?" Robert questioned aloud. "You'll hurt yourself!"

"Stop it," Biscoe commanded. As Brandon pulled away and blinked at him, he stared at Norton. "Why are you always that untrusting? Brandon will never lie to us. He is aware of the consequences."

"It's not just a matter of trust between him and me, Biscoe," Norton rebutted. "I wonder who is stupid enough to let such rabid beasts wander around the town and injure people for no good reason. Monsters like them will only hurt one's reputation."

"Lab accidents may happen, Norton. We experienced that fourteen years ago, remember? We were lucky to have Brandon with us." Biscoe brushed his bushy mustache with a finger. "It's safe to say that these dogs terrorize the town because of a lab accident, and nobody was there to stop the breakout." He looked at Brandon. "What do you think?"

"Sounds plausible." With Biscoe's theory, Brandon grew more suspicious about Charles. The doctor had gone missing the day before, and Sara hadn't managed to contact him. Maybe a lab accident had happened and… Brandon gulped at the implication. Charles might have died.

Biscoe's question snapped him out of his musing. "You have another theory, Brandon?"

"No," Brandon muttered; the steadiness of his tone masked his lie. Although Charles surely had something to do with the dogs, he wouldn't say anything about the doctor. A grumpy old man like Norton would only mock him if he did.

"We'll investigate this case then," Norton replied. "However, if this proves to be wrong, there will be punishment for wasting our time, Brandon."

Brandon simply nodded with a smile. His gesture probably wouldn't purge the doubt in Norton's mind, but he only wanted to prevent Norton from seeing him as a liar.

"Now leave, you two." Biscoe yanked the desk drawer open and took out a logbook. "I need to organize the investigation team."

With a war ensuing in his mind, Brandon stood still with his smile fading. He wanted to ask – no, _force_ Biscoe to assign him into the investigation team; frail humans wouldn't stand a chance against the rabid dogs that had injured a necrolyzer. However, doing so would only offend Biscoe. How much authority did a loan shark like him have in Millennion?

Fortunately, Robert soon spoke for him, shedding a ray of hope in his warring psyche. "Boss, why don't you assign Brandon to the team? He's a necrolyzer." Smirking, he clenched his fist. "A strong and savage one."

Flipping the solid cover of the logbook, Biscoe replied coldly, "Then what?"

"He'll be a great addition to the team."

For once, Norton smiled. "I like how that sounds."

Brandon's lips took a slight upturn. With two people backing up the idea of sending him for the mission, maybe Biscoe would change his mind.

"What are you talking about? Putting an injured man in danger?" Biscoe waved his hand. "Forget about it."

"Biscoe, don't you remember how you disciplined him for attacking our men?" A scowl replaced Norton's smile. His tone was cool and calm, but unsettling at the same time. "You forced him to put on an artificial leg on the day after he lost his leg. Even with terrible balance and ripped stitches, he could still take down a group of rebels."

"Don't remind me about that, Norton!" Biscoe snapped, banging his palm against the logbook. Momentary silence followed his outburst. Suddenly, he looked down and mumbled, "I won't let Brandon do dangerous jobs while he's injured, and that's absolute."

Norton shrugged and sighed. "Whatever." Noticing the frown on Brandon's face, he added, "Well, he doesn't seem to like your idea."

Biscoe looked into Brandon's eye. "I'm doing this for Miss Mika, silly boy. Mind you, that kid is a worrywart."

 _Yeah, it's that simple. Just use Mika as the excuse and I can never fight back._ He managed to grumble only in his mind, fortunately. However, he couldn't conceal his ire; a deep growl still escaped from his gritted teeth as he glowered at Biscoe.

It didn't bother Biscoe even a bit; instead of chiding him for his misdemeanor, the mob boss smiled. "Don't you love your family?"

"I do," Brandon muttered, stifling a nod before turning away. As he walked towards the exit door, he wondered if he would fare better without having Mika as his weakness.

 _"Don't you love your family?"_ That simple question immediately replayed in his head when he thought of distancing himself from Mika. Not interested in prolonging the mind war, he replaced that selfish idea with the image of Mika sitting in his lap, reading a comic book with him. And the inquiry ceased to haunt him.

However, his face remained morose as he wished for Biscoe's change of heart. Humans could never confront necrolyzed beings without casualties, and Brandon sensed an impending doom for the scouts.

* * *

He hadn't uttered a single word since he left Biscoe's office. He hadn't bothered to respond to the guardsmen' greetings either. He hated his inability to avert the imminent disaster.

 _But if I go against Mr. Biscoe's order, I'll only anger him_ , Brandon thought with a frown, stepping out of the elevator and into the parking basement. _Mika won't like it either._

Rows of SUVs, sedans, and hatchbacks turned the parking basement into a maze. Fortunately, Dr. Tokioka's trailer - his and Mika's home - stood about nine feet tall with a lengthy metallic carriage, allowing Brandon to spot it from afar.

A brown-haired guardsman stood at the doorstep of the trailer. Smiling, he greeted, "Good afternoon, Sir. I bet Miss Mika will be very happy to see you back."

Despite hearing the guard, Brandon simply grabbed the door lever and pulled it down. The sulky expression on his face hadn't disappeared; everybody would've probably dubbed him a crabby guy by now. Door opened, Brandon struck the ledge with his sound foot before landing the synthetic one. Upon closing the door, he took off his shoes and placed them on the rack beside him.

"You're back!" Mika's cheery voice came amid the approaching footsteps. "What did Mr. Biscoe say?"

Without saying anything, Brandon walked past Mika and towards his steel recliner. Raging currents had dominated the calm water in him; they would soon sweep him away unless he took cover. So he sat down and closed his eye, protecting himself from any possible hazards that might set him off. Maybe a nap would pacify the furious stream in him.

Luckily, Mika didn't force him to talk. "I see. Well, you hadn't slept well after all. I'll wake you up when Dr. William is here."

In his heart, Brandon thanked Mika for being considerate.

* * *

His keen ears ended his dreamless slumber instead of Mika. Eye still closed, he heard a man's light voice say, "Sorry for being late. A necrolyzed dog broke through the car window when I was driving."

"It bit your hand, Doc?" Mika's childlike voice came.

"Yeah," William replied. "I was really lucky earlier. My briefcase was beside me, so I could take out a bottle of flesh softener solution quickly and pour it into the dog's eyes."

"And it ran away?"

"Yep."

If a doctor could repel the beast, then Biscoe's scouts couldn't possibly encounter any problems in the mission; the troops must have anti-necrolyze rifles in their hands. However, Brandon's confidence immediately faltered as he remembered how those firearms looked. Those gigantic pump-action guns would definitely slow down their wielders, while those hounds were wild and agile.

Opening his eye, Brandon saw Mika standing beside a metallic desk. She was now in pajamas instead of her t-shirt and jeans, so Brandon knew he had overslept.

William stood in front of her, holding a suitcase in his unscathed left hand. It didn't take too long until William shifted his gaze to him. "Were we too noisy? Or you've slept enough?"

"Eh?" Mika looked over her shoulder. "I was just about to call you, Brandon." Turning around and walking towards him, she grinned. "It's 8 PM now."

"Looks like you'll have a hard time sleeping again." William put his briefcase down on the desk and opened it. Laying out a few packaged syringes, plasters, and alcohol swabs on the table along with some vials of clear liquid, he playfully added, "Maybe you can help patrol the parking basement later."

No. If he had Mika's permission or the heart to leave the trailer tonight, he'd rather aid the investigation team. _But do I have the guts to go against Mr. Biscoe's order?_ He sighed.

"It's okay if you want to help the night guards," Mika told Brandon, placing a hand on his bandaged forearm. "I bet staying inside the trailer is really boring. Just don't leave the tower."

After many hours of sulking, Brandon finally smiled a bit. At least, he could help defend Millennion's HQ. Who knew? Those mad dogs might just attack the base at night.

"Miss Mika," William suddenly called from the desk, drawing the transparent fluid in the vial into a syringe, "please take off the bandage. I need to infiltrate the serum around his wounds."

With a nod, Mika began removing the tape on the bandage. Noticing the wrinkles on the plaster and its reduced adherence, she asked, "Hey, who tried to peel it off?" Brandon didn't answer, but Mika had managed to guess what might have happened as she took down the tape. "Mr. Norton, is it?"

"Not really," Brandon replied. "I thought he wanted to confirm if I were truly bitten by a necrolyzed dog, so I tried to show him the wounds. Mr. Biscoe stopped me, though."

"Let me guess. Mr. Norton thought this bandage was just for show," Mika mumbled, unwrapping the wound dressing. "That old fart never changes."

"He was just being careful."

"Careful?"

"Yeah," Brandon remarked, looking at the bite mark and the surrounding gashes. They were still red and gaping, but he saw neither swelling nor blackening flesh around the wounds. "Mr. Norton may seem thoughtless, but he just wants the best for the organization. Including us."

Picking up the worn wound dressing and walking towards the trash can, Mika murmured, "I still don't like him."

Brandon simply nodded. He probably couldn't change her opinion yet; not until she had grown up and seen how harsh and treacherous this world was.

* * *

Fully vaccinated with his forearm bandaged, Brandon rose from his seat. Time to help the guards out there.

Throwing all the used syringes and alcohol swabs into the trash can, William told Brandon, "This should keep you healthy until you undergo the renewal therapy next week. After that, you won't need the vaccine anymore."

Walking past William and towards the exit door, he nodded. As he picked up a pair of sandals, he glanced over his shoulder to see a smiling Mika. "Me? Never mind," she said. "I'll probably read some comic books until I'm really sleepy."

Upon hearing that, Brandon put on the sandals, opened the door, and stepped out of the trailer.

Large and small gaps had formed upon the rows of cars. Thanks to the spaces, within a few minutes, he managed to find where the guardsmen resided. A cluster of them stood between a fiberglass bench and an elevator, chatting as though they were plotting something grand. _What an unusual sight_ , Brandon thought.

Ears perked up and mouth shut, he approached the men in suits. Although his family and colleagues had often told him to talk more, he never liked jumping into a discussion without an invitation. It felt uncomfortable, especially when the chattering bunch ignored him.

"They lost contact with the team?"

"That's what I heard from the guards in the lobby."

"It's all Boss' fault. He should've assigned Brandon to the team."

"Yeah. Necrolyzers ain't called super soldiers fer nuthin'."

Brandon's feet immediately led him to the elevator. His index finger moved almost automatically to push the "up" button on the panel as he clenched his teeth. Whether Biscoe liked it or not, he would intervene. For Millennion's sake.

When the elevator door slid open, though, he failed to make a move. Mika had asked him to not leave the building, hadn't she? He sure would upset her if he went to look for the team's remains.

No, she had to understand why he had to leave. Millennion needed him; his search - if successful - would yield important information that would help ensure the organization's survival. If Millennion could remain stable, then so would his and Mika's well-being. With that, he entered the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Whether Brandon has pointy teeth is due to animation weirdness (episode 1/18) or not, some official artworks depict him to have sharp teeth.
> 
> 2\. The lab accident refers to the breakout in episode 15.


	4. Payback

Brandon walked down the pavement; the luminescence from the street lamps and nearby buildings guided him. He had no idea about where the investigation team had gone, but his instinct told him to start from the convenience store he visited earlier. He first saw a hound in the alley there, and the day before, Sara had seen a pack of necrolyzed dogs around the block of houses that lay beyond the passageway. Those beasts must be around that area along with the missing scouts.

By the time he reached the alley, his ears had only detected the occasional whir and honking horns from the speeding cars nearby, something he commonly heard amid the howling breeze during a night walk. Peeking into the alleyway, he spotted no signs of a fight either. He found no trace of blood in the passage, and the trash cans still stood upright without a single bite mark.

He pressed on, head, teeth, and arm ready to react to any anomaly caught within his earshot or visual field. Having grown up in the streets, he knew a slip would lead to something fatal. Back then, if Jester – Mika's grandfather – had responded to the footsteps coming from the alley behind him, he wouldn't have died with a bullet in his spine. And if Brandon had immediately stayed alert when that happened, the culprit wouldn't have had the chance to hold him at gunpoint and corner his friends.

But sometimes, Brandon thought, careless people just had to exist. Without them, he would never have the opportunity to leave peacefully after fishing something out of civilians' unguarded pockets. And no income meant no food for him and his friends back when he was a street rat.

He soon came across an intersection, a source of confusion. He racked his brain for information, hoping to know where he should go. _West District is further ahead, the shopping district is to the right, and the residential area is to the left._ His knowledge barely provided him a clue, so he inspected the surrounding traffic. _Fewer cars must come from the danger zone_ , he thought. Unfortunately, he noticed no difference in the amount of vehicles.

He figured out he'd better rely on his gut. Once the pedestrian traffic light turned green, he sprinted across the road. To West District he went.

Three minutes had passed since he journeyed to West District, and he thought he'd better turn back. If those hounds had roamed here, then he would've found dismembered corpses instead of snoring bums on the pavement.

 _But maybe I can ask them something._ Approaching a lone tramp, he pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. Having just one hand, he had to use his teeth to take a coin - a peace offering for the bum - out of it.

After returning his wallet to his pocket and holding the coin with his hand, he hunched over to poke the bum's head with a finger.

Opening his eyes, the tramp raised his head slightly and yawned. "If I haven't seen something in your hand, I may have bitten off your fingers for bothering my sleep."

Brandon snickered at the statement. A truck could never get away without a dent after hitting him, and now, a human thought of biting him? This silly bum sure didn't cherish his own teeth.

The tramp snatched the coin and slipped it into the space between his newspaper blanket and his body. "Thanks."

"I have a question," Brandon muttered, still hunched.

The tramp closed his eyes. "Let me sleep."

If a friendly approach didn't work, then Brandon would resort to intimidating. He seized the man by his collar, yanked him up, and greeted his opening eyes with a glare. The bum had better learn now.

He did. Trembling with a bead of sweat dribbling down his face, he stammered, "S-sorry. Ask away, Sir. J-just don't hurt me!"

Brandon nodded but kept his fierce expression. He needed to instill fear in the man's heart, to make sure that he would speak. "You saw anything weird recently? Like big black dogs or something?"

"I don't know anything about big black dogs, except that my friends have been gossiping about them since yesterday," the tramp answered. "But I thought I saw something weird earlier." After taking a deep breath, he continued, "A green-skinned giant headed to the residential area. Well, not really a giant for you, 'cause you're just a little smaller than him. Dunno what that thing is up to, but he never disturbs anybody."

A green-skinned giant? Brandon had once seen - no, _killed_ something like that. _A product of ingesting necrolyzation serum before dying_ , his mind noted, projecting the image of an injured Brad Wong chugging a vial of that vile green fluid. When Brad died, he rose again, with his skin turning green and every single sinew on his body bloating.

Huh? Something clicked in Brandon's head. One could undergo this kind of necrolyzation process by oneself, although the result was less satisfying than the process that involved having bags of necrolyzation serum infused into the body. So, if a lab accident had truly happened and killed Charles, that green-skinned giant might just be him. But why did he necrolyze himself? He couldn't possibly afford renewal therapy to extend his lifespan like Brandon. Moreover, if his mother didn't recognize him, he would be all alone in this world.

"Let me go now?" the tramp suddenly asked.

"Sure." After releasing the bum from his grip, Brandon turned around and made his way back to the intersection.

Nobody other than Brandon trod the path to the residential area, but this didn't indicate anything fishy. Hoodlums terrorized the dark streets regularly, nabbing wallets from civilians and harassing female passersby. Only fools, strong people, or those who had an urgent matter to resolve would trudge through this crime-ridden place at night.

The night breeze howled in the desolate street, but Brandon's ears detected a series of heavy footsteps from around. Necrolyzed dogs, perhaps? But it didn't sound like the scamper of many legs. Those beasts' paws, too, couldn't possibly produce loud noises.

Walking ahead, Brandon spotted a silhouette of a big, brawny man. It held a gigantic rifle - probably a shotgun - in his right hand. _Is that the green-skinned giant?_ With his fist clenched, Brandon trotted towards the figure.

The bespectacled green-skinned giant stood still, his red eyes fixated at Brandon and his bloodstained teeth gritted. _That brown hair and oval face... Charles?_ Brandon questioned, stopping in his tracks. But soon, he lunged forward with his fist ready. The ogre had an anti-necrolyze rifle in his grasp; not only did it pose a threat to Brandon, but it also hinted something related to the missing scouts. Only Millennion could produce that gun.

"Beyond the Grave!" Voice brimming with bloodlust, the giant pointed the rifle at Brandon. "Time for payback!"

Bang!

A bullet ripped through Brandon's left shoulder, knocking him down with a jolt of pain. But he had no time to waste; the giant's act of pulling the pump handle of the rifle meant vulnerability for the ogre and imminent danger for him. Pain dissipating and heart pounding rapidly thanks to adrenaline, he sprang back up.

Another gunshot roared as he charged with a clenched fist, and a bullet grazed the stump of his left arm. Searing pain radiated around the bleeding cut, but another click from the sliding pump handle dulled it.

Brandon reached the giant and delivered an uppercut to his jaw. The rifle hit the ground with a thump.

"Ugh!"

A backhand punch to the ogre's temple knocked his glasses off. The giant immediately launched his fists in retaliation. Brandon ducked and sidestepped, dodging the blows whilst countering with quick jabs.

"You annoying little pest!" the ogre roared, throwing a straight punch and bringing about a gust of wind.

Brandon dodged the blow with a sidestep. As the behemoth tried to regain his momentum, he whirled. A crescent kick to the face knocked the green-skinned giant down.

Dismissing the ogre as a threat, Brandon picked up the anti-necrolyze rifle beside him. "Dr. Charles," he murmured, pointing the gun at the giant's forehead.

Breathing heavily with a hand on his swollen face, the ogre growled, "You recognize me."

Trigger finger ready, Brandon asked, "How did you get this gun?" Charles only glared at Brandon, so he shoved the barrel against Charles' forehead. Whether he would fire or not depended on Charles' answer. Never mind Sara's or Mika's negative reaction later; he just had a duty to carry out.

Breathing more steadily now, Charles swatted the rifle out of Brandon's grip. A thud followed, and he finally answered in a low, rumbling voice, "Picked it up from some dead people."

Brandon's mind immediately labeled Charles as a murderer. His sound foot deflected Charles' incoming hands in a blink of an eye. "Where are they?"

"Further down this road, but I won't let you find them before I teach you a lesson." He launched just a hand this time. Brandon kicked it, only to let Charles grab his stretched leg with his other hand. "I'll make you _crawl_ all your way there." With a roar, he threw him away.

Brandon slammed against the brick wall headfirst, entering the house and grazing his scalp on impact. The room was dark and the occupant was absent. With a thrust of his hand, Brandon returned to his feet and turned to leave.

As he scampered towards the opening, a massive green hand seized him by his neck.

"Caught you!" Charles laughed, pulling Brandon out of the crevice before smashing him into the ground. Fingers curling into a fist, he retracted his free arm.

The first blow landed, and Brandon could feel fluid - probably blood - gushing out of his nose as the concrete around his head shattered. More strikes came, and the discomfort struck both his ears and throat.

He wasn't sure how much more his skull could take. But for sure, he knew he had to live on; only he possessed the power to protect Millennion. Never mind if the organization wouldn't welcome him back for going against their rules anyway.

As Charles launched another fist, Brandon delivered a solid kick to his shin. Charles darted off in surprise, his grip on Brandon loosening. Brandon immediately kicked again; this time, his strike landed on Charles' stomach. The giant held the edge of the busted wall nearby to avoid tumbling.

Seeing the anti-necrolyze rifle beside him, Brandon reached out his hand to pick it up.

Boom!

A huge green foot came down upon his wrist, breaking both bones and concrete alike. Brandon's hand could move no more, and he let out an agonized scream with his eye locked on the gun he could never wield again.

Still crushing Brandon's wrist under his foot, Charles cackled. "C'mon. Grab the gun and fight back."

 _Shut up!_ A roar burst out of Brandon's mouth as he rolled towards Charles' free leg. His pointed teeth dug deep into the muscular calf, drawing out blood. And he pulled away, tearing off a chunk of flesh. After spitting it out, he chomped down again.

"Can't play with a rabid dog I guess." Charles snickered, picking up the anti-necrolyze rifle. As Brandon ripped another piece of flesh off his leg, he added, "You bite a lot and don't wanna listen to me. Just like those hellhounds."

Hellhounds? Was he referring to the necrolyzed dogs? But how did Charles know the term for them? As the bloody lump of meat fell from his mouth, he realized something. "You created those dogs!" Brandon concluded loudly, diving in for another bite.

"And it's all your fault." Charles booted Brandon in the face, sending more liquid out of his nostrils and ears. Pushing the barrel of his gun against Brandon's left thigh, he yelled, "I wound up creating those monsters because of you!"

"What-" Pain suddenly shot up from his left thigh, turning his question into nothing but a whimper. A click followed, and another surge of pain exploded in the stump of his right leg. It felt as though he had chains wrapped tightly around his lower limbs, crushing everything within until his legs went limp. Once again, he let out an anguished roar, a manifestation of his frustration at the fear of losing his ability to walk for a lifetime.

"Honestly, I don't plan to kill you," Charles murmured, stepping past Brandon with the anti-necrolyze rifle in his hands. "You took away my ability to take care of my family, so I guess it's just fair if I do the same to you. Now, you get to feel the helplessness I've experienced." And he walked away with a guffaw. "How satisfying!"

With Charles' departure, Brandon found his whole body aching. But rage provided him the determination to track that bastard down; Charles had taken away his legs, his tools of trade, while he had only made Charles jobless back then. _Not fair!_ Gritting his teeth, Brandon rolled. He began inching ahead, scraping his stomach against the rough floor as he moved.

His body didn't let him crawl for more than a minute; brushing the gunshot wounds against the dusty pavement debilitated it with excruciating pain. Brandon slumped with a wince, gasping for breath and coughing as he lay on the sidewalk.

He couldn't possibly catch up with Charles right now. _Or maybe forever_ , he corrected in his mind. His wounds had to heal first and he might need a wheelchair next time, but how could that happen? Millennion wouldn't help him anymore; he had gone against Biscoe's order and angered him for sure. Moreover, he had let a monster on the loose. Mika? Brandon must've upset her by going against her request and leaving Millennion Tower. _If somehow she ever comes, she'll probably say that I deserve to be beaten up like this_.

Tears welled in his eye as he gave the starry sky a vacant stare. _There's no hope. I don't belong anywhere._ And he wondered when hypothermia and muscle rigidity would overwhelm his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Jester is not related to Maria by blood, but he is still Maria's adoptive father.
> 
> 2\. Blood War or Brad Wong? According to some sources, it's supposed to be Brad Wong in the original. However, most refer him as Blood War.
> 
> 3\. How Brad becomes a necrolyzer refers to episode 11. Unlike the standard necrolyzation (anime only; Brandon's hair doesn't turn white post-necrolyzation in the game), ingesting the serum doesn't turn a necrolyzer's hair color white.


	5. Tolerance

"You created that big hole in my house, didn't you?"

Brandon's eye fluttered open at the man's loud voice. Raising his head, he saw a blur of cyan and tan – probably the guy who snapped at him earlier – standing before him. _Must be the owner of that house_ , he concluded. But he didn't want to argue; why should he do something he disliked during the last moments of his life? So he simply nodded, waiting for the man's wrath.

And it came; the man stomped the gunshot wound on Brandon's shoulder. Brandon screamed in response, his entire body twitching at the surge of pain. The chemicals from the anti-necrolyze bullets had sensitized his pain perception.

"Just like I thought!" After landing another foot on the wound and bringing about another agonized cry, the man walked past Brandon. "You necrolyzers are troublemakers. You gotta pay!"

Gasping for breath and coughing in-between, Brandon looked over his shoulder. The man stood beside him, hunching over and slipping a hand into Brandon's pants pocket. He then left with Brandon's wallet in his grasp.

Instead of chasing the man, Brandon only lowered his head and resumed his rest. He had no more reason to live; neither Mika nor Biscoe would tolerate his act of ignoring their requests and leaving the building. No Millennion man coming to save him proved it.

His slumber didn't last for more than five minutes; the noise of screeching wheels, whirring engines, and car doors slamming shut grabbed his attention. Raising his head and opening his eye, he saw a man in a black suit running to him, with Mika and Biscoe following from behind. They weren't angry at him?

Mika didn't seem to be. "Brandon!" she shouted; concern filled her voice as she squeezed herself past the Millennion man and the wall. Kneeling in front of Brandon, she exclaimed. "You're bleeding a lot!" Her glassy eyes expressed worry and oddly, remorse.

Soon, the Millennion man arrived along with Biscoe. Like Mika, Biscoe didn't seem to be angry either; he simply bent over to check the wound on Brandon's shoulder. Suddenly, he pulled away. "Footprints on your wound? Somebody stomped it?" Brandon nodded, and Biscoe looked past him. "Hmm, there's a trail of bloody footprints behind you. Looks more like something left by a human than a necrolyzed being." Turning to the man, he ordered, "Find the culprit and teach him a lesson."

"Right away, Boss."

Once the man set off, Biscoe fished a phone out of his pants pocket and told Mika, "Stay with him, Miss. I'll call for help."

At this, Brandon couldn't help but say, "You two aren't angry at me after all."

Sitting down with her legs crossed, Mika wrapped her arms around his head. "We were. You didn't stay at the tower as promised." Her voice became shaky, and she pulled him closer for comfort. "B-but we then felt horrible. You left the tower because y-you wanted to learn more about the necrolyzed dogs, r-right? Just so that we all can prepare ourselves when those monsters attack, w-wasn't it?"

Brandon finally managed to crack a smile. They still loved him, and it warmed his heart. _Not yet._ _Nobody can protect my family if I truly die._ Closing his teary eye, he murmured, "The man behind these dogs is Dr. Charles Goh. He's now a necrolyzer. And the missing scouts are-" The sensation of fluid trickling down his throat interrupted him. And he coughed, staining Mika's clothes with the blood from his ears, nostrils, and mouth.

"Brandon, no!" Mika spoke in a muffled voice, holding him tighter and resting her head against his. "You're bleeding even more now!"

"Never mind, Brandon. It's more important to know the mastermind of this case. We can find those scouts by ourselves," Biscoe suddenly added; funny how everybody's voice sounded faint now. "For now, just rest. You need it."

Brandon's broken body finally gave in. With a tearful smile, he fell asleep in Mika's embrace, free from the fear of being unloved.

* * *

His chest felt warm. Something lay there, but it didn't restrict his breathing. Opening his eye, he spotted a blur of red, cream, and grey in his spinning visual field. _Mika?_ Moments later, his vision regained its stability, and he now knew what had caused that warmth. A sleeping Mika occupied part of his torso, her head resting right below the gauze pad that concealed the direct access to his central vein. Because he couldn't help but think of her as a newborn baby, his hand automatically made its way to Mika's back.

William's voice came from somewhere nearby; this time, everything sounded crystal clear. "How's your wrist?"

Wrist? Brandon raised his arm and observed it. A fiberglass cast enveloped his forearm and hand, leaving only his fingers visible. Curious, he flexed his digits several times. No movement restriction. Good.

"You know where this is?" William asked.

Brandon spent some time looking around. An armrest resided on each of his sides, yet he was lying on his back... Someone must've adjusted his recliner into a bed.

"You hear me?" William asked again, walking towards Brandon. Brandon replied with a nod, and William responded casually, "Then where?"

"Home."

"Good to know that. Thought you still have issues with your ears." William smiled at Brandon. "You should thank Boss when you meet him. He doesn't usually order the research facility to produce refined necrolyzation serum, mind you."

Returning the smile, Brandon nodded. He would definitely thank Biscoe; the mob boss had not only pardoned him for leaving the building without his consent, but also provided that panacea to speed up his healing process. Glimmering and costing like a bar of gold, the refined serum would convert a necrolyzer's blood cells into anything required to patch up a wound upon administration. Dr. Tokioka had once injected that drug into him when his injuries failed to heal, and it worked wonders.

"Boss couldn't provide enough serum to fully restore you, though. He says it'll affect the organization's financial stability."

"I understand," Brandon said, placing his palm on Mika's head. He gently rubbed her forehead with a thumb, but she remained fast asleep.

"She didn't sleep last night." Brandon raised an eyebrow at that statement, but William immediately explained, "To be exact, _we_ didn't sleep last night. We spent the whole night taking care of you."

"She really didn't have to do that," Brandon murmured, stroking Mika's head. "It must've been tiring."

"Tiring, yes, but you were in critical condition after the surgery last night."

"Surgery?"

William pointed at Brandon's thighs, directing Brandon's gaze to the neat wound dressings there. "The anti-necrolyze bullets will decompose your flesh if they aren't removed from the wounds. It was a difficult surgery, telling you." He yawned. "And dangerous. In a gunshot wound, the bullet is acting as a plug to the damaged blood vessels. Pull it off, and you'll bleed a lot. You get the point."

 _I was bleeding to death last night_ , he deduced, _and Mika did her best to make sure that I would be okay_. Wrapping his arm around Mika's petite body, Brandon hugged her tight. "Thank you," he whispered to her, "but actually, you don't have to do that. Don't sacrifice your well-being for my sake, my child."

"Are you going to sleep again? It's 2PM now."

Whether Brandon would resume his slumber or not, it depended on Mika. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her lightly; if she woke up, then he would stay awake as well.

Opening her eyes slowly, Mika raised her head. "What is it?" she asked, casting a nonchalant gaze at Brandon. A smiling Brandon waved his hand in front of her face, and Mika's eyes were wide open in an instant. "Brandon! You sure look better now!"

Brandon nodded, but his smile soon became a wince. As Mika tried to crawl her way down, a foot of hers struck one of his bandaged thighs.

"Sorry." Holding the armrests surrounding her, she quickly moved backwards. However, her knees still hit Brandon's injured thighs several times before she managed to leave the bed. Groans escaped from Brandon gritted teeth as pain shot up from his wounds, and Mika stammered, "S-sorry! I didn't mean to h-hurt you!"

"Well, you shouldn't have slept on top of him, Miss." William snickered. "You are sure to hurt him by accident."

"Blame that old fart. He made me so upset. Sleeping on Brandon made me feel better because I felt like I was protecting him from that bastard."

 _Old fart? Bastard?_ Brandon wondered, his wince turning into a puzzled look. As far as he knew, no matter how many times he had advised Mika to respect Norton, Mika would address Norton with derogatory terms. But something must've happened; maybe Mika had quarreled with him?

Mika soon provided the answer to his question. "Not long after the doctor confirmed that you were stable, Mr. Norton came. He wanted to know more about yesterday. Because you were still sleeping, he tried to wake you up." She suddenly yelled, "And that heartless bastard quickly ran out of patience! He wanted to hit you in your wounds just so that you'd wake up! That monster! I shooed him outta here!"

"Mika, you shouldn't do that," Brandon advised. "He just needs more information. It's so that the organization can react faster and protect you."

"But can't he think of a nicer way to get the information?"

"Being nice doesn't always work." With a thrust from his forearm, Brandon sat up slowly. He then looked around, scanning the trailer for his phone. Since he'd woken up, he'd better inform either Biscoe or Norton about what had exactly happened yesterday.

"You're up? Fine, I'll adjust it into a recliner." William crouched, his hand winding one of the crank handles attached to the will-be recliner. The lower third of the bed sank down to support Brandon's sound leg.

He continued his search, but Mika then asked, "You're looking for something? Just tell me. I'll find it for you."

"My phone."

"Your phone?" Mika blinked. "I thought the fight last night broke it."

"Speaking of your phone, I heard you lost your wallet yesterday." William stood back up. "But don't worry. Boss got it back for you. Not in the way I like, but I guess that's just how mobsters deal with civilians. They always rely on violence."

"I need a phone," Brandon grumbled. "Millennion's higher-ups need my information."

"You won't need a phone." Mika turned away and walked towards the trailer's exit. "I'll just ask Mr. Biscoe to come."

 _It should be easier if I head to the office as well._ Brandon's instinct pushed him to his feet. But it didn't take too long until he fell back down; his prosthesis was missing while his sound leg faltered as soon as he stood. He tried to get up again, only to collapse afterwards. Why couldn't his sound leg support his body for just a second? A moment of sitting still and recalling yesterday's event gave him the answer: Charles had embedded an anti-necrolyze bullet in each of his thighs. _Not again. Please, not my legs again._

Grabbing the door lever, Mika suggested, "Just sit still and wait, Brandon. You know, you'll recover faster if you rest a lot."

"My legs are already dead." He sounded unpleasant, unlike how he usually spoke to Mika. "I don't need any rest again." But soon, Mika left without a word. She didn't bother to look at him, which felt like a slap to his face. Looking down with a frown, Brandon wondered what had just slipped out of his mouth.

"Don't worry, Sir," William assured him. "She always thinks that you're better off alone when you're like this."

"Shut up," Brandon mumbled. _You don't know her better than I do._

"She's used to dealing with this situation." The sound of a plastic chair scraping against the metallic floor echoed. "Remember? You were also like this during the first few weeks after losing your leg. And when you struggled to learn how to walk with a prosthetic leg, you were just as cranky."

"She's probably sick of it this time." Brandon simply leant back with a closed eye, cutting off the access to any irritating conversations.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Brandon."

That rough, yet familiar voice woke him up. _Mr. Biscoe?_ Opening his eye, he saw Biscoe and Mika standing in front of him. "Mr. Biscoe." Brandon smiled faintly. "Thank you for the refined serum."

"Oh, never mind. You needed that." Biscoe moved closer to Brandon and placed a hand on his unscathed shoulder. "You didn't know how stressful we were when Dr. William reported your condition after the surgery. Your limbs were all cold. Your blood pressure was dropping. And your pulse was very weak and fast."

"And you all spent the whole night taking care of me." Brandon's smile vanished. "Wasn't that tiring?"

"It was worth it," Biscoe replied. "You might have died if we didn't watch over you."

A smirking Mika added, "I won't mind doing that every day as long as it'll keep you alive."

Her speech soothed his troubled mind; it sounded as though she still tolerated his misdemeanor. "Mika," Brandon muttered, reaching out his hand, "sorry about earlier."

"Why apologize?" Mika held Brandon's arm. Pressing her face against the back of his hand, she smiled. "It's not your fault. I know you're more sensitive when you're in a bad shape."

"As I've said, Sir," William butted in, "she's used to dealing with this."

Mika soon released his hand and nodded with a smile. Brandon looked up at Biscoe, and the mob boss also sported the same facial expression. Returning their smiles, Brandon said, "Thank you."

After a moment of silence, Biscoe began, "Now, Brandon, tell me more about yesterday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The trailer's recliner is a reference to the Overdose universe. Brandon/Grave can sleep on it like a bed, although it's not a perfect one.
> 
> 2\. The refined serum is a reference to the beginning of episode 22. Dr. Tokioka infuses Brandon with some yellowish serum that will 'perfect' his body.


	6. Reminiscence

"I see," Biscoe murmured, stroking his bushy mustache. "Charles beat you up and left you for dead. All just because you made him jobless." He sighed. "Ridiculous. And stupid. Now, he'd better know that the whole Millennion will be after him."

"You know why he created the hellhounds?" William asked Brandon. "Was it out of vengeance as well?"

Brandon was fairly sure that Charles hadn't created those dogs to hunt him down. Those hounds wouldn't have attacked Sara if he had. Brandon knew how much Charles loved his mother; just because of Brandon taking away his ability to take care of her, he had beaten him to within an inch of his life and left him in pain.

"I don't know," Brandon finally muttered after a moment of silence. He couldn't find a way to explain his speculation.

"Never mind," Biscoe replied with a nod. He turned to William and Mika. "I have something to tell Brandon privately. Can you two leave us for a while?"

"Sure thing, Boss." William turned away.

"Just tell us when you're done talking, Mr. Biscoe." After waving a hand at Brandon and bringing about a smile on his face, Mika followed William and walked out of the trailer.

Once Mika had shut the trailer's door, Biscoe began, "Well, without them, we can talk more freely. You know how fussy Miss Mika will be if she hears us."

Brandon couldn't help but chuckle. Maybe for now, Biscoe would avoid an argument with Mika. But sooner or later, she'd learn what he and Biscoe had been talking about. If Biscoe did plan to send him for a fight, when Brandon departed, Mika was sure to question both of them.

He'd better talk to Mika once Biscoe left, although the mob boss wouldn't like it.

"Actually, I understand why she can get so fussy. I don't really like this either, but if we don't deal with the hellhounds ASAP, it'll be dangerous." Brandon nodded again, and Biscoe added, "I've brought your old handguns to the lab and asked the engineers there to fix them. It should be done tomorrow."

Biscoe was having Cerberus fixed? Brandon smiled as he sensed an imminent work. Now, Millennion wouldn't have to worry about casualties anymore. Maybe Brandon would end up with serious injuries, but trading his well-being for more than fifty lives was a fair exchange. A respectable necrolyzer must not, for others' sake, think of himself.

 _But your legs aren't functioning anymore._ That thought suddenly haunted Brandon, and he frowned at it. Nothing hurt him more than his reduced capability to protect Millennion.

"I understand if you don't want to help," Biscoe suddenly said. "You're still recovering."

"Um, no." Brandon's scowl dissipated quickly. "If you want me to fight, I'll do it." _If you want me to crawl as I fight, so be it. I can still kill with my guns...I hope._

"Okay." Biscoe nodded. "You know? My men don't fight well. The scouts yesterday... They all died fighting those monsters." He took a deep breath. "That's why I need your help. When the scientists are done with your guns, please get rid of the hellhounds and Dr. Charles."

"Sure."

"Thank you." Biscoe placed a hand on Brandon's plastered forearm. "Don't worry. According to the doctor, your wrist will heal tomorrow."

"It's all thanks to you, Sir. You gave me enough serum."

Biscoe smiled at him. "But still, I have to apologize for not being able to restore your leg function. I wanted to do that, but I might shake the organization's financial stability." His smile soon vanished. "Honestly, I feel bad. You can't possibly walk by the time your guns are fixed. You have to rely on a wheelchair for the time being."

Wheelchair? Brandon snickered at that word. How could he have forgotten about that? He relied on that thing whenever he didn't have his artificial leg attached. _Or maybe Mika is right. I'm rather agitated when injured._

Biscoe suddenly fixated his gaze at Brandon's right leg. "Whenever I see you fight when your wounds haven't healed, I just remember about that incident." His index finger traced the slim trail of pale flesh on the tip of the stump. "Your leg. I once forced you to put on an artificial leg right after you underwent an amputation. The surgical wound on your residual limb reopened as a result. It hurt a lot, didn't it?"

"If you hadn't done that, your men would've thought of you as a sentimental boss."

"I was asking if it hurt, silly boy," Biscoe scolded him, but his tone was rather playful. "But either way, that's the worst thing I've ever done in my life. And it'll take a very long time to forget it." He pulled away and turned around. "That's all I want to tell you. See you tomorrow at ten."

* * *

Mika returned to the trailer a few minutes after Biscoe's departure. Brandon blinked as he wondered why William didn't accompany her, but she soon told him the reason, "Dr. William said that you were already stable, so Mr. Biscoe let him go home. But we can still call him if something isn't right."

Brandon nodded, watching Mika drag a swivel chair towards him. The doctor sure needed a rest after spending the whole night watching over him. _And so did Mika._

Once Mika had positioned the chair beside him, he asked, "Are you sleepy?"

"I've slept enough." Mika snickered, sitting down.

"Then I have something to tell you." Brandon paused, preparing himself to do what he didn't like: debating with Mika and possibly incurring Biscoe's wrath. _But if I don't do it now, she'll be very worried as I work._ "Mr. Biscoe wanted me to fight those dogs and Dr. Charles. He had ordered the engineers to fix Cerberus, and it would be done tomorrow."

"What?" Mika's voice rose. "You're going to fight tomorrow? Your wounds haven't healed!"

"But if I don't get rid of the hellhounds and Dr. Charles soon, you all will be in danger."

"No! You should tell Mr. Biscoe to find an alternative. You'll kill yourself if you fight."

"If I only rely on my bare hand, maybe I'll die. But this time, I have Cerberus with me." Brandon placed a hand on Mika's head. "You have to remember how powerful those guns are."

Mika only remained quiet as she looked down. She probably thought that he was incapable of fighting now. However, Brandon knew what he should do. Letting go of Mika's head, he said, "I'm still as tough as before. We can ask Mr. Biscoe..." He paused as Biscoe's angry face emerged in his mind. "...to pit me against a hellhound or something. You just watch me fight."

Mika finally complied, albeit reluctantly. "O-okay, no need to talk about pitting you against a monster. I trust you." She hugged Brandon's arm tight. "Just be careful."

"Thank you," Brandon whispered with a smile. Not only had Mika decided not to fret over this, but she also had averted the possible conflict between him and Biscoe.

* * *

They spent the whole day solving crossword puzzles and reading comics together. _Just another ordinary day_ , Brandon thought as he looked at Mika, whose eyes grew teary as she looked at the last panel of the comic. There, Donald Duck walked towards the sunset limply as though nobody appreciated him.

"At least, his nephews think that he's fantastic." Mika closed the book and wiped her eyes. "He isn't very clever or rich, but he is willing to give his all to take care of his three little nephews. That makes him an amazing person." After returning the comic to the book-laden carton board beside her, she held Brandon's plastered forearm. "Just like you."

"I don't have three little nephews."

"You have a kid to take care of."

"I don't remember if I've done anything special for you. Millennion covers most of your living cost after all."

"Don't be silly!" Mika stood up, walking to his front. "Don't you always do stuff for Millennion's sake?" Brandon nodded, and Mika added, "Moreover, you've done a lot for me. Maybe for Mom and Dad, too. That's why I always think of you as a very special person in my life." Brandon only grinned sheepishly. "Brandon, I want to know about your heroic acts towards Mom and Dad. You must have a lot of stories to share."

With a nod, Brandon began reminiscing. Hmm, he had once saved Maria's dignity when he was still eighteen. Mika would love that story.

* * *

_Brandon strolled down the desolate pavement with Harry; moonlight and street lamps guided their way home. He hadn't heard a single noise from a human since he left the stadium, save for Harry's whine about betting on the wrong horse._

_"I shouldn't have listened to Nathan," Harry mumbled, shrugging. "I lost because of him."_

_As Harry continued his rant, a woman's cry echoed across the street. Brandon stopped walking and turned to the source of the noise. Further across them, three thugs stood surrounding a blonde, with one of them holding up her hands._

_"You're pretty," one of the ruffians said, casting a wolfish grin at the trembling woman._

_That didn't sound like a compliment, and Brandon hated what would soon happen. As he sprinted towards the commotion, Harry told him, "Brandon, you know how this world operates, right? You gotta be selfish to survive. Leave that woman to her fate." But Brandon pressed on, quickly and silently._

_"C'mon, sweetie." The thug caressed the woman's face, bringing about a moan. "We'll show you a great time."_

_Approaching the ruffians, Brandon scrunched his brows and stared at them. Nobody paid attention to him; they were all too busy teasing the poor blonde. Running out of patience, he seized a thug by his hand and slammed him against another._

_"What the-"_

_Brandon quickly elbowed the other thug in the stomach to shut him up. The back of his clenched hand soon struck the scoundrel's face, bringing about a crack and a groan._

_The two hooligans Brandon intercepted earlier didn't give him a minute to catch a breath. They lunged at him, cursing with their fists ready. But Brandon immediately smashed their heads against each other's._

_Footsteps came from behind as he hailed the two thugs with a barrage of fists. Sensing it as an attempt for a sneak attack, he elbowed whatever was behind him. A whimper followed._

_Turning, he glared at the wincing scoundrel and seized him by his collar. "Go home," he snarled._

_Another series of footsteps suddenly came from behind, and Brandon casually swung his fist backwards. His knuckles struck the not-too-stealthy thug in the face, bringing about a gulp from the ruffian in his grasp.  
_

_"Y-yes," the thug stammered, and Brandon released him. Running towards his friends, he exclaimed. "Let's leave!"_

_When the three scoundrels left, Harry approached Brandon and the blonde. "You're lucky," he told Brandon before looking at the woman. "And you? Are you okay?"_

_"Yes," the blonde murmured, still quivering a bit. "Thanks for saving me."_

_"Oh." Harry pointed at Brandon. "You gotta thank this Mr. Buttinsky for that."_

_"I see." Shivering less now, the woman smiled at Brandon. "Thank you. My name is Maria."_

_Brandon knew the woman meant no malice, but why did his heart pound faster? It also took some time for him to introduce himself. "Uh, Brandon…Heat."_

* * *

"You know how I first met your mom? I was just passing by when three scoundrels attacked her. Harry told me not to save her, but I didn't want to imagine what would be of her if we just ignored the commotion."

"Those thugs tried to kill her?"

"Yeah." It was a lie, but Mika was still too young to know the truth. Seconds later, he continued, "So I jumped in and beat them up. Saved your mom from them, and I decided to walk her home every night. In the slum, it was difficult for women to get home unscathed."

"Wow, you sound like a knight in shining armor!" Mika commented cheerfully.

"But your grandpa didn't like me. He always shooed me away whenever I was with your mom."

"My grandpa was stupid."

"He had a point, Mika," Brandon replied. "Your mom was a scholar, while I was just a street rat. She deserved somebody better than me."

"But you saved her!"

"Still couldn't change the fact that I was a petty crook."

"My grandpa was stupid, 'nuff said," Mika grumbled. "Well, can I know about Dad now?"

"Sure."

* * *

_His mother's body lay beside a pistol on the marble floor. Blood escaped from the gaping wound on her chest, staining her dress red._

_No. Brandon quickly dismissed the hallucination, and his mother became a man in a black suit. But still, his legs couldn't stop shaking as he slowly approached the dead man. Every step he took conjured the image of his parents' corpses._

_As he approached his body, his instinct commanded him to hunch over and grab the pistol, the very weapon that killed his parents and gave him weeks of nightmares when he was six. Millennion needed protection, especially the leader, Big Daddy. If the mob boss died, Maria and Harry would die as well._

_The gun almost slipped out of his shaky, sweaty hand when he picked it up, but his desire to protect was stronger. Grip stabilized, he began making his way through the empty hallway, passing a few elevators and ornate tables. He stopped when he heard a chatter from a junction nearby._

_"We haven't seen any Lightning goons so far, Big Daddy," Randy spoke, coming out of the junction with Big Daddy._

_"Hmm..." Big Daddy stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed at Brandon. "What's the matter, Brandon?"_

_All of a sudden, a series of rapid footsteps broke the momentary silence, followed with a closing elevator door. Brandon whirled, his gun aimed at the source of the noise - a man with a pistol pointed at them._

_"Get lost, kid!" the man snapped, his trigger finger ready._

_But Brandon stood still in front of Big Daddy, creating a barrier between the mob boss and the goon. And two gunshots roared; one from Brandon, another from the man. Both Brandon and the goon collapsed afterwards._

* * *

"Lightning was a rival to Millennion. They thought disposing your dad would destroy the syndicate and let them conquer the town," Brandon spoke. "But Millennion was my home. My family was all there. If I didn't do anything, everybody would die."

"So?"

"When the Lightning goon tried to shoot your dad, I jumped into the line of fire," Brandon told Mika, raising his t-shirt high enough to reveal a gunshot scar on his stomach. "I took the bullet for your dad, but I managed to kill the goon before passing out. This is the scar."

Mika's mouth was wide open, but it took almost a minute until a word finally came out of it. "Amazing!" Like a tiger cub, Mika jumped at him, landing on his lap and hugging him afterwards. "You're a hero, and there's no denying it!"

Pain shot up from his injured thighs and etched a wince on his face, but it didn't stop him from asking, "You think so? People often said that I was just a sycophant."

"Ignore those jealous people." Mika nuzzled the crook of his neck. "To me, you're always a hero. I wouldn't have existed without you." Pulling away, she gasped. "Sorry, did I hurt you again?"

"Never mind." Brandon managed to smile slightly as he grimaced. _Because I know that, in this world, there's always someone who appreciates me no matter what._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Don Rosa's Super Snooper Strikes Again makes a cameo here.
> 
> 2\. The flashbacks are taken from episode 25 and 6 respectively, with modifications.


	7. Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grave is Brandon's alias during his days as a necrolyzer.

With an anti-necrolyze rifle in his hands, Charles walked down the pavement under the moonlight, looking left and right in search of the hellhounds. Those mongrels didn't deserve to live in such a maddened state; his purpose of creating them had always been to sell them as terrifying guard dogs, not to let them roam freely as bloodthirsty beasts. He never wanted to hurt the innocents, except those Millennion agents, because their deaths would surely lure Grave out. _  
_

Grave... Charles wouldn't mind if those mad dogs shredded him, especially if they knew to let him go after tearing off a limb of his. That damn necrolyzer started everything; because of Grave blowing up the lab, he had to work as a doctor at a clinic. His wage went from sixty million yules to ten million yules per month as a result, crushing his dream of having a happy family. If taking care of just his mother had sometimes affected his well-being, what would happen if he had a wife and a few kids?

 _You destroyed everything!_ Charles' next step dented the ground. Halting, he clenched his jaw at the shattered concrete surrounding his green, brawny foot. Would Sara still accept him - a monstrosity - as her son when they met again?

Tears welled as Charles remembered why and how he became a necrolyzer. His throat burned, almost as it had done after one of the mongrels latched onto it. A lone tear coursed down his cheek and was dashed away with angry fingers. _Grave, what kind of person are you? You destroyed the lab just because you had a vendetta against our boss. You didn't bother thinking about us, who were just working to take care of our families._

Suddenly, his booming laughter echoed across the silent street. He had accomplished one of his missions at least; he had rendered Grave's legs nonfunctional and taken away his ability to support his family. Now, he only had one more objective in this town: eradicating the hellhounds. He knew his mother wouldn't want him anymore, but his heart told him to still protect her.

Resuming his stride, he looked left and right with the rifle ready. Dark alleys always caught his attention more than anything else, since the absence of light could easily conceal those big black dogs. But this time, no hellhound lurked in the darkness; maybe because they didn't have any poor critters to chew on.

Minutes later, the illumination from a nearby street lamp soon confirmed his assumptions. Three hellhounds surrounded a dismembered body of a cat on the floor. Seeing their lack of focus on him, Charles fired his anti-necrolyze rifle.

He didn't manage to score a hit; instead, he provoked the hellhounds with the gunshot. They now rushed towards him with their bloodstained fangs ready.

He pulled the pump handle. He fired again; this time, his bullet tore off a dog's pointed ear. But the injured mongrel pressed on. Charles slid the handle and fired once more, but the anti-necrolyze round ripped through the empty air.

As he pumped the gun again, one of the incoming dogs sprang at him. Charles swatted it away with the gigantic rifle, but a tugging sensation overwhelmed his right leg. Looking down, he saw the remaining hellhounds clamping their jaws on his calf.

Charles would utilize the distraction to put a bullet through a hellhound's head. When the dogs retreated with a chunk of green flesh between their teeth, he took aim and fired. One down, two more to go.

Charles pulled the pump handle again, but the other dog had recuperated and lunged at him. As it opened its mouth for a bite, he raised his free leg.

Crunch!

Bloodstained shards of concrete flew everywhere.

Another tugging sensation struck his bleeding leg. But Charles simply pointed the rifle at the hellhound's head. A bang, and the dog slumped.

"You rabid dogs," he sputtered, kicking away the nearby carcasses before sitting down and placing the rifle on the ground. "If you all had listened to me, I wouldn't have killed you."

He took a vial of necrolyzation serum out of his pants pocket. The green liquid only occupied three-quarters of the container, as he had rubbed some on the bite marks Grave had inflicted on his leg last night. This time, he used up another quarter of the serum, leaving the vial half-full.

Unlike yesterday, the green flesh growing from the edges of the lacerations left thin red lines on his calf. Crimson fluid seeped out of them and trickled down his leg.

Noticing the oddity, Charles recalled when he created this liquid; he suspected that the serum had expired... No. As long as this thing remained in the fridge, it would take a longer time to expire. _There must be something else._

Two days ago, when those hellhounds broke loose, he still had two vials of necrolyzation serum inside the drug storage fridge. One entered his digestive tract to transform him into a necrolyzer, while another went to his pants pocket as a preparation to combat Grave and the hellhounds. The green liquid worked almost like a panacea to necrolyzers; it could heal any wounds as long as they didn't come from anti-necrolyze bullets.

Charles thought about how the serum worked to heal a necrolyzer's injuries. It simply enhanced the regenerative capabilities of a necrolyzer's; if the undead came with a weak regeneration system, the serum wouldn't work well.

 _But the serum worked last night!_ Charles argued in his mind. _There's nothing wrong with my-_ Suddenly, he remembered what he had learnt about necrolyzers' lifespan. Without a renewal therapy, these reanimated corpses couldn't live for more than seventy-two hours. Their body system started to fail during the final day of their life.

"My body system is failing," he concluded, looking down with a crumpled face. From what he learnt during his days as a Millennion scientist, a necrolyzed animal lived longer than a necrolyzed human. "I can't fight those dogs any longer!" Charles yelled, standing up. He then felled the lamp post beside him with an elbow strike. "Nobody's gonna provide me a renewal therapy and extend my lifespan!"

His mind returned to the root of everything. "Beyond the Grave! It's all your fault!" Returning the vial of serum to his pants pocket, Charles picked up the anti-necrolyze rifle, pulled its pump handle, and sprinted away from the messy street. "Your legs aren't enough to pay for all the troubles you've caused!"

His rage soon dissipated, clearing his clouded mind. Walking more slowly now, he wondered what would happen if he attacked Grave inside Millennion Tower now. A barrage of anti-necrolyze bullets would greet him and turn him into a beehive. Yesterday, if a pack of hellhounds hadn't chomped down a few Millennion agents in the team and distracted the remaining men, he wouldn't have come out unscathed with an anti-necrolyze rifle.

 _I need help._ With that half-full vial of necrolyzation serum, he could still convert someone into a necrolyzer - an imperfect one, unfortunately. But who wanted to be that thing? Civilians of Billion despised everything related to necrolyzation, as those abominations had terrorized them for thirteen years. But wait. Maybe he could ask his colleagues for help. Most of them had to take low-paying jobs thanks to Grave, so there had to be at least one person who bore a grudge against that darn necrolyzer.

Excited, Charles ran down the desolate pavement. Every step of his emitted a boom and cracked the ground, shattering the stillness of the night.

An intersection shortly came into his sight, with a few cars and motorbikes staying behind the zebra cross. However, neither screams nor blaring horns resounded as Charles sprinted across the road. He glanced at the waiting vehicles, and fearful faces of the drivers' greeted him. Well, as long as they didn't bother him, he wouldn't flip their cars.

He simply continued his journey to the residential area, looking left and right as he walked. The passageways around contained no trace of hellhounds; all garbage cans still stood upright with cockroaches creeping around them. But soon, an oddity upon a two-story house came into his sight. A crevice - large enough for a necrolyzed dog but not an ogre like him to go through - on a brick wall beside him caught his attention.

Charles approached the opening. Broken bricks with bite marks lay on the ground before and beyond the cleft. _Those rascals..._ A deep growl escaped from his gritted teeth as he sprang forward and smashed through the hole.

A pair of red eyes gleamed in the dark room, which grew larger and larger as a scamper of many paws echoed. When they were close enough to Charles, the faint beam of light leaking through the crevice revealed their owner - a hellhound.

Charles quickly pointed the anti-necrolyze rifle at it and fired. The bullet only grazed the incoming dog's scalp. As he slid the pump handle, the hound jumped at him with its mouth wide open. He slammed it back shut with a downward strike from his rifle, and the hellhound plummeted to the ground.

Glaring at the recuperating beast, Charles aimed at the dog's head and pulled the trigger. But a click came out instead of a bullet.

 _Oh, well. I'm not good with guns anyway._ As the dog rose again, he hurled the massive rifle at it and knocked it down with the impact. A leap followed the stunning blow, and his feet demolished both bones and ceramic alike. Stickiness plagued his soles afterwards.

Walking around the house, Charles scanned the surroundings for a light switch. When he found one and pushed it, the sudden flood of luminescence showed him what the hellhound had left in the house. Wrecked furniture and shredded rats littered the living room. _Nothing interesting._

He spent five minutes exploring the house. The first floor had nothing but junks. Only a broken cleaver and a piece of half-eaten raw steak in the kitchen - which hinted a struggle against the hellhound - drew his attention. Finding no corpse in his investigation, he suspected that somebody was still alive and hiding somewhere in this house.

Charles then decided to ascend the staircase, but the second level had neither necrolyzed dogs nor signs of life. No noise existed in the dark hallway. However, Charles would check the rooms as well.

A locked door met him first. Unlike downstairs, this door didn't instantly turn into a doormat after he kicked it. _Something blocks it_ , Charles thought. After taking a few steps back, he charged. The door fell as soon as his body hit it, and his ears registered a cacophony of sounds produced by wooden objects slamming against the ceramic floor.

"Necrolyzer!" a man's voice echoed in the darkness. "Go away!"

Charles scanned the nearby wall and pushed the light switch there. With the lights on, he could see a black-haired man in pajamas sitting on a chair beside a bed. A four-pronged cane lay in his hands, and the man held it as though it was a bat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Charles smirked, hopping over the pile of fallen tables and chairs.

"I'll crack y-your skull open if you c-come any closer!" Despite his best efforts, the man couldn't hide the fear in his voice as Charles came closer him.

"Give me your best shot then."

The cane slipped out of the man's hands as he raised his arms. "Why do you necrolyzers exist? Dealing with the Mafia is already more than enough."

"The Mafia? Millennion?"

The man nodded. "Those guys shot me in the knee and stole some valuables. They said it was a punishment for hurting their people."

"Their people?"

"You know that big hole leading into my living room? A white-haired necrolyzer created it last night. I stepped on his wounds and took his wallet, but then, those mobsters came."

At this, Charles saw an opportunity to befriend this man. "Ah, I know that necrolyzer. Grave... He's just that irritating. You want to teach him a lesson, don't you?"

"Of course," the man answered, "but he is under the protection of the Mafia."

"Then let's fight together." Charles reached out his massive green hand. "That necrolyzer also ruined my life."

The man lowered his arms. "I'll only trust you if you can get rid of the big black dog down there. I've been locking myself in here because of it."

"That rascal? Destroyed it." Charles laughed, pointing at his bloodstained feet. "If you wanna see its bloody corpse, just go downstairs."

"What?" The man exclaimed in disbelief, rising from his seat. With his cane in his grasp, he limped past Charles and out of the room.

"Don't be so hasty!" But a series of loud thuds answered Charles, prompting him to dash out of the bedroom. That crippled man might have fallen from a flight of stairs; if Charles didn't act fast enough, he would surely lose the chance to necrolyze him. The necrolyzation serum wouldn't revive someone with an inactive digestive system.

Outside, he jumped down the long, straightforward staircase. His rough touchdown sent chunks of ceramic into the air and carved a huge crater on the floor. Turning around, he found the man sprawled across the ground, bleeding from his head and nose. He was breathing quickly with his eyes closed.

Crouching almost in an instant, he called out, "Hey, wake up!" He received no response, so he smacked the man's shoulders lightly. "You hear me?"

The man opened his eyes, his breath remained fast and light. "My leg... I wish I could beat up that white-haired necrolyzer."

 _That's the spirit!_ Instead of grinning mischievously, though, Charles only smiled slightly. "I can help you."

"Impossible."

Charles took a vial of necrolyzation serum out of his pants pocket. "Drink this, and you'll become a necrolyzer like me."

The man remained silent for a moment, but soon, he told Charles, "Give me that. I want to get my revenge done."

Removing the cap from the vial, Charles said, "Don't worry. I'll feed you, Mister-"

"Gilbert."

"Ah, yes, Gilbert." With a hand, Charles bent Gilbert's head forward so that he could pour the green liquid into the man's mouth. "When you've become a necrolyzer, let's discuss our plan. Grave needs a lesson."


	8. Bloodshed

With the fiberglass cast split open, Brandon observed his forearm. No rash, no swelling, no peeling skin; his hand was perfect for handling Cerberus. But when he flexed his wrist, an invisible force from within slowed his movement slightly. _Not too perfect._

Lifting the tray of cut-up cast from the trolley, William told Brandon, "Well, your wrist has been in a cast for about two days, Sir. It won't take too long until it can move properly, though. After all, it's just been two days, not two months."

Whatever the doctor said, Brandon thought a rigorous practice would relieve his stiffness. So he flexed his wrist a few more times, but the activity yielded no improvement.

This stiff hand would surely affect his aim, and he had to think of a solution unless he wanted Charles to flatten him again. With such an awkward hand, he might want to fire a few crippling shots first, preferably bullets to the knees. He could then finish Charles off with a headshot.

But he had to be careful of incoming attacks, too. A simple blow to his healing gunshot wounds would surely hurt.

All of a sudden, the trailer's door opened, and Mika barged in. Holding up a folded newspaper, she ran to him. "Brandon! Look at the headline news!"

Brandon took the newspaper and read it. A picture of a green-skinned giant running down the pavement lay on the newspaper; however, the photographer only managed to capture the ogre's back.

Standing beside Brandon, Mika pointed at the image of the giant. "It's Charles. Watched the TV when I took the newspaper. People said that this giant looked like a doctor from a clinic at Kite Street."

Brandon scanned the block of text below. _Last seen heading to the residential area of Billion._ Perfect. Now, he only had to wait for Cerberus.

"Y-you know, I haven't thought that he'd make it into the n-news... Now, I feel bad for his mom," Mika stammered. "She must've known that her son is a n-necrolyzer."

 _And a mother would never abandon her son, no matter what he had become._ Brandon sighed. Sara's presence in his mission would only complicate things; who knew if she might just jump into the line of fire? Brandon hated killing an innocent old lady, especially the one who had helped him a while back.

Suddenly, he felt Mika's arms snaking around him and heard her say, "At first, I hated Charles so much for what he had done to you. Just like everybody else in Millennion, I really wanted him dead." She hugged him tighter. "But now, I remembered his mom. She was a nice old lady." Her sobs crept into Brandon's ears. "I just...don't know what to do. If you kill Charles-"

"We have to get rid of him, Mika." Brandon returned her embrace with a small smile. "He's a threat to all of us."

Mika pulled away, revealing her teary eyes. "Isn't there another way?"

"I don't think I can resolve this peacefully." Smile fading, he looked down. "Charles hated me, and he had a reason. A while back, I destroyed Harry's research facility without giving a second thought about all the workers there. I did it out of vengeance and ruined Charles' life by accident."

"But if y-you try, I think you c-can just end this without f-fighting."

"That's impossible, Miss," William butted in. "Charles is now a necrolyzer. If necrolyzers ever hate something, they'll only have this in mind: make that thing suffer."

After a moment of silence, Mika said, "Then...everything is up to you, Brandon."

* * *

If Charles hadn't hated him so much, Brandon wouldn't have hesitated to negotiate with him. Unlike many others out there, his mother had treated him kindly. Kindness had to be repaid with kindness.

But still, Millennion came first. That necrolyzer had killed many innocent Millennion men; if Brandon didn't stop him, more would die.

Gentle knocks came from the door, and Brandon lowered the newspaper. Mika immediately walked towards the double door and opened it. A black steel suitcase stood beside Biscoe, its handle pulled up.

"Lay out the ramp, please," Biscoe requested. "These guns are heavy."

After pushing the other door open, Mika pulled the lever on the wall beside it. A wide metallic plate jutted out of the ledge and crashed down before Biscoe, forming a ramp.

"Thank you." Biscoe dragged the suitcase into the trailer and approached Brandon. "How are you feeling now?"

Brandon replied with a thumbs-up and a smile. _Better not talk about my stiff hand._

"What about your old gunshot wounds? Do they still hurt?"

"A little."

"Good. Well, here's Cerberus." Laying the suitcase down on the floor, Biscoe crouched. He opened the case, revealing a twin pair of handguns. The big cross emblazoned on the barrel distinguished them; one had a red cross while another had a white one.

Biscoe picked up one of the guns with both of his hands. Wincing, he stood up slowly whilst struggling to keep the gigantic handgun in his grasp. Although he knew it wasn't polite, Brandon snatched the firearm to ease Biscoe's burden.

Fortunately, Biscoe only laughed softly. "Necrolyzers have immense strength, don't they?"

Brandon nodded, his gaze falling to the red cross on the gun's massive barrel. _This gun..._ It felt so good to be able to feel its cold steel with his palm and fingers again. He twirled it around his trigger finger before tossing it into the air. Then, he caught it back with his hand and held it across his chest.

"I thought your hand was stiff earlier." William chuckled, walking past Brandon's armchair. "Or maybe you're so excited that you've forgotten about that? Well, that's understandable. I bet getting your old guns back feels like reuniting with your long lost family."

"I entrust this task to you, Brandon." Biscoe dragged the suitcase closer to Brandon. "Charles was last seen at the residential area, near a house with a big hole." Anger suddenly brimmed in his voice. "Get rid of him ASAP. That bastard killed two Millennion men this morning."

Brandon's smile faded into a look of shock, which quickly passed into a frown. _That's it. You've gone far beyond what is acceptable, Charles._ With the target's location specified and Cerberus ready, this wouldn't take too long...as long as Sara didn't interfere.

* * *

Sunlight glinted off the windows of Millennion Tower. The skyscraper gradually disappeared from Brandon's sight as the van sped along the road. A slow, mellow tune from the radio accompanied the whirring engine.

Sitting still in his wheelchair with Cerberus on his lap, Brandon looked left and right through the windows. Who knew if he would spot a hellhound or two? Like Charles, those necrolyzed dogs also posed a threat to Millennion and had to die.

However, even after passing many houses, Brandon saw no hellhound around the desolate pavement. Maybe they hid inside the dark alleys? But he wouldn't ask Arnold to stop the car either; he had to eliminate Charles - a more serious threat to Millennion - first.

The van soon moved past a closed grocery store. A grey-haired woman stood outside the building, looking around with a slight hunch. _Mrs._ _Sara!_ At this, Brandon told Arnold, "Drive faster!"

Unfortunately, Sara had locked her eyes on Brandon as the van sped away from her. She followed them hastily, bringing about a sigh from him. That frail body couldn't possibly have the stamina to catch up with the vehicle.

However, the van suddenly stopped. Before Brandon could utter a word, Arnold told him, "Traffic light. Didn't manage to drive past it earlier."

And Sara finally caught up with them. With a pair of tearful eyes fixed at Brandon, she knocked on the window.

Brandon had never wanted to open it, but his heart told him not to ignore her. Sara was a mother who might never see her son again. So he pushed the button on the door, allowing the window to slide down.

"Are you looking for...Charles?" Sara sobbed. Brandon nodded, and she continued, "Please take me with you."

"What for?" Arnold asked coldly, staring at her. "Don't you see Brandon's guns? We're gonna kill Charles. He's killed many Millennion men."

"No! My son is never a murderer!" she cried out, tears streaming down her eyes. "Even if he's a necrolyzer, I believe he can still retain his humanity!"

"Humanity?" Arnold spat. "Brandon is the living proof of your son's brutality."

"I'm now wheelchair-bound," Brandon admitted in a low, rumbling voice. "Charles crippled me with an anti-necrolyze rifle. He stole that weapon from a Millennion agent."

"My son..." Sara buried her face in her hands. "This can't be."

The old lady reminded Brandon of something. Back then, he had attacked Biscoe's agents to protect Harry, the very man who had murdered Mika's parents. However, when Biscoe revealed that to Mika, the girl only screamed back at him, telling the mob boss that Brandon would never do such a heinous deed. If she had never heard the truth from Brandon, maybe she would still believe that he had never helped Harry.

For a moment, Brandon wanted to invite Sara into the car. Maybe she would be happier if she managed to learn the truth about Charles. Heck, maybe Charles would love to see his mom again, too. But which came first? His family or someone else's family?

"Well, gotta leave now," Arnold suddenly said. "Go home, Ma'am. The street ain't safe for ya, especially when it's got some hellhounds and necrolyzers."

As the window slid shut, Brandon whispered, "I'm sorry." And the van moved away from the crying Sara.

Amidst the sad melody from the radio, Brandon heard Arnold say, "You think being a necrolyzer is part of why Charles is so unhinged?"

"I guess so," he replied, paying attention to his sides to anticipate an attack. The absence of cars on the road told him that something wasn't right.

"But you're also a necrolyzer. How can you be much more stable than him?"

"Unlike Charles, I have my family by my side." Brandon smiled, still looking around. "They remind me of many things during my mortal life. I learn to be myself again thanks to those memories."

"You think if Charles meets his mom, he can learn to be himself again?"

"I doubt it. Charles is beyond-" Spotting an incoming green-skinned giant, Brandon grabbed one of his handguns and fired through the window.

Within a split second, the ground shook violently and the surroundings seemed to rise. Brandon immediately moved closer to the window, but soon, everything whirled.

"What the hell!" Arnold screamed.

The van flew straight into a lamp post, knocking Brandon out of his wheelchair and slamming him against the window. Pain and sticky sensation shot up from his old gunshot wounds, but his handgun remained in his grip. With his teeth, he picked up his other gun.

When he turned around, he spotted Arnold's motionless body beside a cracked window. His eye widened at the blood trickling out of his driver's nostrils and ears _._

Crash!

Heart pounding rapidly, Brandon turned with his gun ready. His bullet struck someone's gigantic green biceps, but it didn't stop the muscular hand. It seized him by his neck, yanked him out of the van, and threw him into the air.

As he plummeted, his trigger finger refused to budge when he saw the attacker. _Black hair? This isn't Charles, but then, who's this?_ However, a green severed leg in the necrolyzer's hands gave him a bad feeling.

Amidst the distraction, the grisly bludgeon struck Brandon in the face and knocked the handgun out of his mouth. Recovering from the shock, he saw the necrolyzer charging at him with that revolting club ready. He instinctively fired his gun and carved a few bloody holes on the ogre's torso.

The new wounds didn't slow him down even a bit. Once Brandon landed on the ground, the necrolyzer leapt with the severed leg raised and a roar. And the bludgeon came down.

Holding the gun across his face, Brandon blocked the attack and locked their weapons together. But after a brief struggle, the green-skinned giant pulled away and brought down the severed leg again.

A swing of his handgun deflected the blow, creating an interval. Brandon quickly aimed at the necrolyzer's head. But another swipe came sooner than expected, forcing him to stop it with another swing.

He took aim, only to have his wrist kicked. Gun knocked out of his grasp, he heard the green-skinned giant say, "You think I can't learn from experience?"

Shoot! How could he kill this necrolyzer now? Even with his arm fully stretched, he couldn't reach his weapon.

The club came down again. Brandon swatted it away, but a big green foot struck his chest afterwards. A loud crash and a painful cry echoed as concrete and bones broke altogether.

With a wince, Brandon breathed lightly and rapidly. There had to be a way to retrieve Cerberus and dispatch this monstrosity...

He thought of an idea. Cracking a small smile whilst huffing, he wiggled his finger at the ogre. "Is that all you've got?"

His foe roared in exasperation and jumped into the air, his feet ready to crush him. _Just as planned._ Brandon's palm smashed into one of the incoming soles, shaking the ogre's equilibrium and knocking him down.

Breathing heavily, Brandon rolled to his stomach and inched towards Cerberus. Something tickled and stung his thighs and shoulder as he scraped his body against the rough terrain, but he dismissed the sensation and pressed on. Peeled bandages and reopened wounds could wait.

A forceful blow crashed down on his left leg as he reached out his hand to grab his gun. Still feeling the sheer pressure to his ankle after a few seconds, he drew a conclusion: his foe must've trampled his lower leg, so he must have his knee exposed. Without turning, Brandon held his gun over his shoulder and fired.

When the pressure subsided and a thud resounded, Brandon rolled to his back. The green-skinned giant now sat on the ground, his eyes widening as blood gushed out of the wound on his knee.

The ogre raised his horrid bludgeon, but his hands faltered after a Cerberus round drilled into each of his wrists. "Y-your aim... Th-this can't be!" the necrolyzer stammered. "Wh-what are y-you?"

Brandon raised his gun slightly and fired. The necrolyzer collapsed with a gaping wound on his forehead.

"A man of Millennion," Brandon finally answered. "You killed Arnold, my family, and I wouldn't let you get away with it." Pain overwhelmed his body afterwards.

As he groaned and gritted his teeth, sticky fluid seeped out of his loose molars. But his injuries could wait; he'd better investigate about the severed leg and Charles.

Something clicked when his mind connected the dreadful bludgeon to Charles' absence. _What has this stray necrolyzer done to him?_


	9. Peace

The answer to everything lay beyond that big hole; Brandon was sure of it. So he inched towards it with Cerberus between his teeth, staining his clothes red with his reopened wounds.

Before he managed to reach the crevice, his aching body demanded him to stop. His handgun slipped out of his mouth, allowing him to breathe more easily.

As he gasped for breath, a grey-haired woman walked towards him. _Sara..._ But after looking down at him, she simply turned away and headed towards the opening. Brandon didn't need any words to understand why she ignored him; if she helped him, she would only accelerate her son's death.

Taking a moment to rest refreshed his body, albeit, only slightly. His breathing remained light and fast, but his wounds hurt less now. After picking up his handgun with his teeth, he continued crawling. As he reached the cleft, though, he collapsed again.

Not yet. He had to reach Charles first before he could rest. And a woman's wail coming from beyond the hole gave him the drive to move again.

Brandon continued his physical struggle to reach the entrance, the toil causing his chest to tighten each foot he managed to drag his body. A brick wall - small for those who could stand, big for those who couldn't - blocked his way, but it only took a punch to tear it down. Path cleared, he pressed on.

Inside, a crying Sara sat beside a straight-faced Charles. His gigantic body, rigid like a steel beam, rested in her arms. His skin had turned into a shade of dark yellow. No blood pooled around where his left leg used to be. _He has no more blood_ , Brandon concluded, taking the handgun from his mouth. _He's going to die._

But how did Charles lose his leg? What problem did the necrolyzer outside have with him?

Looking at Brandon, Sara begged, "Help him. Please help my son. His body is so cold." Brandon remained silent, but Sara insisted, "I know he's done many horrible things to you, but please forgive him."

With an expressionless face, Charles groaned.

"His facial muscles have gone stiff," Sara sobbed. "His condition worsened very quickly since a necrolyzer attacked him."

 _Must be the necrolyzer I met before..._ "Did he tell you anything about that?"

Charles groaned again, but Sara spoke for him, "Charles needed help, so he necrolyzed the owner of this house."

Brandon's eyes widened in shock and anger. The victim of the necrolyzation was the very man who attacked and robbed him a few days ago, but... If Sara hadn't been here, he would've smacked Charles in the face with Cerberus. Without a renewal therapy, something a civilian couldn't possibly afford, a necrolyzer would die a slow and painful death.

"But then, the necrolyzer noticed his stiff movement." Hearing another whimper, Sara stroked Charles' head. "So he went mad and attacked him, because he necrolyzed him without saying anything about the side effects."

"Why did you do that?" Brandon snapped at Charles.

Although it took a while, a word finally escaped from Charles' mouth, "Revenge."

Brandon snarled. "Just because I made you lose your job by accident?"

"Because...that was the start of everything," Sara replied. "He couldn't earn much money since you destroyed Millennion's research facility, so he created the hellhounds."

Growing calmer now, Brandon asked, "How is that supposed to give him money?"

"He thought he could sell them as guard dogs." Sara took a deep breath. "But then, an accident happened. His new hellhound attacked him and led the others out of the lab. He didn't want his creation to terrorize the town, so he necrolyzed himself. At the same time, he thought of getting his revenge done."

Brandon stared at Charles. "Did vengeance get you anything?"

"Just...pain..." Charles moaned amidst his slow and shallow breathing.

"He's learned his lesson," Sara muttered. "So I beg you. Forgive my son. And help him."

Brandon only growled as he glowered at Charles. _Killed many Millennion men and necrolyzed a civilian... Unforgivable!_ Placing his gun between his teeth, Brandon turned away, only to return seconds later. What would letting Charles die in pain yield? Maybe only guilt. So he crawled closer to Charles, took the gun from his mouth, and pushed the muzzle against the necrolyzer's forehead.

"You're killing him!" Sara screamed. "Please, he's had enough!"

Trigger finger ready, Brandon shook his head. "My intention of killing Charles is to free him from the pain. As you've said, Ma'am, he's learned his lesson and had enough." _Although he actually doesn't deserve such leniency. I bet that's what everybody in Millennion thinks, except Mika._

After a moment of silence, Sara stood up. "My son, is this the best for you?"

A smile somehow appeared on Charles' face. "Yes." Tears welling in his eyes, he murmured, "Grave... Thank you."

Bang.

* * *

Dragging a swivel chair towards Brandon's bed, Mika asked, "You shot Charles because you didn't want him to die in pain?" She looked down with a crumpled face. "I know that's the best for him, but how did his mom feel about this?"

"She was fine with that, but it still broke her heart," Brandon answered, his voice muffling through his oxygen mask. "It's understandable. Charles is her only child."

After a moment of silence, Mika continued, "Do you think it was possible to resolve this without killing him?"

"It was impossible. Nobody could provide him the renewal therapy he needed." Mika nodded her understanding, and Brandon continued, "But at least, Charles died in peace."

"How do you know?"

"His mother told me that his facial muscles had gone stiff, but he somehow managed to smile as he died."

All of a sudden, gentle knocks came from the trailer's entrance. Mika immediately stood up, walked towards the door, and pulled it open. Standing before her with a smile, William held up a vial of golden liquid - the refined necrolyzation serum.

"Doctor, that's awesome!" Mika's voice brimmed with excitement. "But I don't think that's enough to restore Brandon's legs."

William stepped into the trailer. "It can only restore his ribs and ankle."

"At least, I can see him without an oxygen mask and a cast again tomorrow." Mika closed the door. "How did you get that?"

"From Mr. Norton."

"What?" Mika growled. "I bet he wants something in return."

"He wants Brandon to search the town tomorrow and kill any hellhound he sees."

A broad smile found its way to Brandon's lips. _Great!_

But Mika didn't agree with him. "That old fart." She hissed. "You should've asked Mr. Biscoe for the serum, Doctor. He must be willing to give it for free."

"Boss wasn't there when I visited the office." Approaching the trolley beside Brandon's bed, William continued, "He had some important matter to deal with."

"What happened?"

"Somebody spread rumors about Millennion's involvement in turning Dr. Charles into a necrolyzer."

Brandon's smile faded at the news; thoughts of breaking the culprit's jaw fleeted in his mind. But he calmed down as soon as he heard a rip from beside him. William had put on a pair of rubber gloves and taken the syringe out of its wrapper.

He could fight again soon.

* * *

_"The more you rest, the faster you'll recover."_

William often told him that, so Brandon had decided to spend the whole afternoon napping. However, something just jolted him out of his slumber. Mika didn't have anything to do as he slept, did she? Recalling how she reacted towards Norton's request, Brandon thought she might've tried negotiating with him.

He scanned the trailer for Mika as he sat upright, but he couldn't find her anywhere. _She must've gone to the office._ Then, he saw the wall clock pointing at six, which relieved him a little. But still, he had a hunch that Mika might've visited Norton before getting her dinner.

He could only hope for the best now.

Minutes flew by with him sitting still, staring vacantly at the trailer's entrance. Since Mika hadn't returned, his weary body told him to resume his sleep. But his mind fought back. He had to do something in case his fear came true.

Brandon never liked arguing, especially with Mika. However, if she managed to persuade Norton not to let him hunt the hellhounds, he just had no other choice... Wait! He knew what he had to do. As long as he could go out, he could do his job. Maybe he could suggest stopping by Sara's house for a chat.

Suddenly, the trailer's door opened, and Mika stepped in with a plastic lunchbox in her grasp. Closing the door, she smiled as she took off her slippers. "You're up already? I have good news."

 _Bad news_ , Brandon corrected in his mind, smirking.

Putting the container down on the desk, Mika said, "I met Mr. Biscoe earlier."

"The issue about Charles' necrolyzation?" Brandon asked almost in an instant.

"It's resolved." She opened the lunchbox. "I told Mr. Biscoe about Mr. Norton's request and your condition. He didn't like Mr. Norton's idea either, so he talked to him. You're free."

Brandon nodded. _I knew it._

"But I'm still a little suspicious about Mr. Norton." She dragged the swivel chair towards the steel desk. "He suggested us to go to Mr. Arnold's funeral tomorrow, and you have to bring Cerberus."

At this, relief overtook Brandon's body and mind. Although he could guess Norton's intention, he only said, "There's nothing suspicious, Mika." He smiled. "You think we can reach the graveyard without seeing a hellhound?"

Sitting down, Mika blinked. "I'm not sure."

"What if a hellhound attacks you, and I don't have Cerberus around?"

After a moment of silence, Mika muttered, "I understand." As she picked up a chicken drumstick from the lunchbox, she said, "I wish necrolyzation hadn't disabled your digestive system. Do you miss eating?"

Unsure about what to say, Brandon only replied with a nod. He often thought of smuggling a blueberry pie into his stomach, but what for? It wasn't worth it; leaving undigested food inside him would damage his body, while nothing could sensitize his dead taste buds.

"If you could eat, the first thing I'd do would be learning to bake pies. Like Mom." Mika laughed softly. "You loved Mom's pies, don't you?"

"Yeah."

When Mika began eating, Brandon's eye felt heavy again. She would never speak as she chewed her food. But Brandon didn't mind. He had taught her not to talk while eating, because she had a risk of choking herself with the food in her throat.

He decided to lie back down and end his day.


	10. Butterfly

Oxygen mask and fiberglass cast off, he was ready to go. With William and Mika supporting him from his sides, he managed to reach his wheelchair without a fuss. But as he walked, his sound leg took more time to falter now. This etched a broad smile on his face.

Once he sat on his wheelchair with Cerberus on his lap, William pushed him out of the trailer and towards a black sedan. Norton stood there, smiling slightly as he opened the door.

"You look ready."

"Sure." He put his handguns down on the car seat. Grabbing the backrest, he pulled himself up. His trembling leg sent him hitting the seat face first, but slowly, he crept along the little seat and rolled to a sitting position. His wounds stung briefly, though.

"Your leg is getting better," Norton noted.

Pushing the wheelchair to the back of the car, William added, "It's all thanks to the constant administration of the refined serum."

Gathering his guns and placing them on his hurting lap, Brandon smiled at Norton. He stood still outside, allowing Mika to reach him once she climbed into the car. However, she didn't respond to his act of moving Cerberus to the floor - a tacit invitation to his lap.

"I don't want to hurt you," Mika told him. "The wounds on your thighs haven't healed."

Having had her in his lap countless times before, Brandon could tell that she weighed much less than Cerberus. But if she said so, he saw no point in forcing her to sit there. Nobody had occupied the remaining one-third of the backseat.

However, he changed his mind when Norton entered the car. As he suspected, the old man only wanted more protection by sitting beside him. But Mika would never understand; she always thought that Norton treated him like a tool and didn't deserve his sincerity.

With her arms crossed over her chest, she grumbled, "Nobody's sitting in the front."

"I feel safer here," Norton argued back. "Now, move."

"Nope."

Brandon immediately picked her up by the back of her collar and put her down on his lap. Searing and stabbing pain jolted from the wound on his left leg, but amidst the wince, he managed to force a smile. _  
_

After glancing at his face, Mika crawled away to occupy Norton's seat. However, Brandon pulled her back almost in an instant. "You're light as a feather," he said, wrapping his arm around her.

Unable to do anything, the sulky Mika sat still.

When Norton had settled down and slammed the door shut, the car engine roared. The vehicle moved past William, but before reaching an uphill slope that led to a beam of light, Brandon flashed a smile at the doctor.

* * *

All the surrounding houses and stores concealed their entrances behind roll-up doors. As the sedan sped along the desolate road, Brandon looked through the window. No big black dogs roamed the pavement; instead, he saw a huge grey mutt knocking down a mailbox. Where had those hellhounds gone? Or had their necrolyzation expired?

But wait. When the life of a necrolyzed being almost ended, it would undergo some physical changes. That grey dog, wrecking the mailbox with its jaws of steel, seemed suspicious.

Picking up his handgun, he demanded, "Stop the car." This might put Mika and Norton at risk, but as far as he knew, a dying necrolyzed being couldn't move too fast with its stiffening muscles.

"What is it?" Norton looked through the window as well. "What a strange dog. Stop the car, Eric. And open the window beside Brandon." He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket.

At this, Mika hugged the stump of Brandon's left arm tightly. Reading it as her silent request for protection, he pushed the barrel of his gun against the window.

The sedan halted. Once the window slid down, Brandon fired through the opening. The Cerberus rounds punched through the dog's body, but no blood gushed out of the wounds. _It's a hellhound, and it's dying_ , he concluded.

The gunshot drew the beast's attention and brought about a roar. Baring its razor-sharp teeth, it turned and rushed towards them. With Mika's grip on him tightening, Brandon quickly took aim. A headshot ended the mutt's threat.

"Be quick. You definitely won't want anybody outside Millennion to take away the specimen." Norton hung up the phone. "In a few hours, we'll get some news about the dog."

* * *

Mika pushed Brandon's wheelchair towards the group of people in black suits and dresses - their destination. However, noticing her ragged breath and the moisture on her face, Brandon told her, "You know. I can move by myself."

She released the wheelchair. Pointing at it, she glared at Norton. "Push it."

Norton shrugged. "I'm too old."

"And I'm too small."

"I'm neither." Brandon chuckled, spinning the wheel and moving past a few rows of graves. The path leading to the crowd had no junction, a reason why he thought Mika and Norton should just walk casually. But even if he had to make a turn, his wheelchair still had its steering wheel - an alloy lever with a crooked handle.

Approaching the dispersing group of people, Brandon paid attention to the woman and the little boy amidst the crowd. Arnold's wife and son - Lisa and Kevin - stood there, with the tearful little boy tugging at his mom's dress and asking, "Why did those people bury Dad?"

 _What a cruel world._ Brandon shook his head, feeling a lump in his throat. How many kids in Billion had lost at least one of their parents? A lot. Mika had lost her parents to Harry. Then, Brandon himself, at the age of six, had witnessed how a local thug shot his parents dead. Moreover, he had killed many people, most of which had had children...

Sometimes, he wondered if everybody could stop taking away others' lives.

Sadly, the world couldn't operate that way. Kill or be killed; that was just how the universe worked. Letting Harry slip away from execution had led to the death of Mika's parents. While now, not killing the rebels within Millennion would harm Biscoe and everybody else.

In the end, he could only go with the flow. Killing would surely devastate the victims' beloved ones, but he also had a family to protect.

Mika's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "You look sad."

Brandon nodded, looking over his shoulder. The girl, too, had tears brimming in her eyes.

"I feel sorry for Arnold's family," he responded.

"You know who is to blame for this?" Norton grouched. "That damned Biscoe. He's too protective of you. Had he let you look for Charles by yourself, Arnold wouldn't have died."

"You bastard!" Mika yelled, staring at Norton. "It's too dangerous for him to wander around the streets with a wheelchair!"

"You're wrong. Traffic accidents? The cars will break, not the necrolyzers." He shrugged. "Brandon doesn't need too much protection."

"Mr. Norton is right," Brandon said. "I'm a necrolyzer. I can protect myself."

His words created a sullen Mika and a smiling Norton.

Moments later, with Mika and Norton in tow, he moved towards Lisa and Kevin. The little boy quickly left his busy mother and the guardsmen and ran towards him. "Uncle, what happened to Dad yesterday? You were with him, right?"

Brandon nodded, but before he managed to speak, Norton chimed, "Your dad died in a car crash."

At the sight of streaming tears, Brandon clenched his fist and jaws; thoughts of punching Norton fleeted in his mind. Couldn't he speak more nicely to a kid? The boy did have to learn the truth, but really, a slow approach would soften the blow to the heart.

"Well, kid, all you can do is moving on," Norton continued. "Every meeting always ends with a goodbye."

When the bawling Kevin left them, Brandon growled at Norton. That old man should've figured out a way to tell the cruel truth of the world without breaking a child's heart. Mika agreed with him, as he could see her glaring daggers at Norton.

"That's just how the world operates, isn't it?" he asked.

Sighing, Brandon stifled a nod. "But that's not how one is supposed to behave at a funeral, especially to a grieving child." He raised his hand and motioned Mika to follow him. Time to pay respect to the dead and his family.

They first stopped at Arnold's grave, which had a tiny white butterfly perching on the tombstone. Standing before the headstone, Mika smiled. "Mr. Arnold, thank you for everything."

At the same time, Brandon bowed at the fact that he hadn't brought any forget-me-nots with him. But seconds later, he raised his head. He'd never forget everybody who'd left them, and he thought that would be enough.

They then approached Lisa and Kevin, who had just waved their goodbyes at some Millennion guardsmen. Mika went to talk with Lisa, while the crying Kevin rushed to him and asked, "Uncle, Dad is really gone, isn't he?"

"Not really," he replied, placing a hand on Kevin's head. "He lives on in your heart, as long as you go on living without forgetting him."

Sobbing, Kevin wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. "How does he live on in my heart?"

"If you never forget him, you can feel like he's still around."

"Really?" Brandon nodded, and a smiling Kevin hugged his massive arm. Pressing his face against the forearm, he said, "Thanks, Uncle. I feel better now." The boy's happy tears seeped through his sleeve, filling his heart with warmth and satisfaction.

* * *

Having seen how Arnold's family mourned their loss, Brandon thought of visiting Sara. That lonely old woman would definitely enjoy their company, but Norton had better keep his mouth shut. Earlier, if not for Mika, he would've refused to stop by her residence. "She was the mother of the very man who created the hellhounds," he had said.

Wheeling himself along the alley with Cerberus on his lap, he spotted two more dying hellhounds. The grey dogs stood amidst a pile of mutilated rats, snarling through their gritted teeth.

"Protect us!" Norton commanded from behind.

As the beasts charged, Brandon's instinct guided his aim. A bullet drilled into a hellhound's forehead, killing it. The remaining dog drew closer to him and jumped, blood dripping down its fangs.

_You've got your family behind you._

Within a split second, Brandon shoved the barrel of his gun into its mouth and fired. The limp body fell before his foot.

Glancing over his shoulder, Brandon saw Mika and Norton sniffing the air. Something seemed wrong here, but he couldn't help them with his dead sense of smell.

"Hmm... You smell something weird, Miss?" Norton asked.

"Rotten meat. But not from Brandon."

"Of course not. He's just had his renewal therapy a while back."

 _Is it from the hellhound?_ Brandon looked at the motionless dog before him. It didn't react when he prodded it lightly with his foot, so he hunched over and picked it up by its foreleg.

Mika winced. "The hellhound stinks."

Brandon hurled the dead dog at the wall. Now, he needed no confirmation from the lab. Everybody else didn't either. His near-death experience, coming from the lack of renewal therapy last year, had provided a clue. As he spent his time recovering in his bed, William had told everybody, "He's stable now, but always pay attention to how he smells. If he smells rotten, he needs an immediate care. There's a decomposition process going on."

"I think it's safe to say that the hellhounds are no longer a threat," Norton muttered, stroking his chin. "They'll go extinct in a few days."

They continued their journey to the block of two-story houses ahead. Unnatural silence accompanied them.

Chipped paint littered the white wall, which matched the picture of Sara's house inside Brandon's head. The two white butterflies on the windowsill fled when he approached them. Peeking through the almost dust-free windows, he saw only darkness. Something didn't bode well, and he shuddered at the feeling when nobody answered the knocks on the door.

"She's probably away," Norton commented, turning around and wagging his finger. "Come on. Let's go home."

Brandon complied, but he couldn't shake off that ill feeling. His mind kept accelerating his heartbeat by labeling that house as "abandoned".

Heading back to the passage, he heard a click from above. A man with a bucket in his hands had opened the window.

"Mika! Mr. Norton! Stay away from me!" Brandon barked.

Unfortunately, confusion and shock prevented them from moving. Dishwater crashed down on him, its tremendous splash drenching Norton and Mika slightly.

"You monster!" the man above them shouted. "Sara died because of you!"

Brandon's eye widened, allowing the entry of the dirty liquid into it. _This can't be!_ Tears trickled down his cheeks along with rivulets of grey soapy water. His hand moved almost automatically to cover his face, leaving only his eye visible between his fingers.

"You insolent kid." Norton pulled a pistol out of his suit and took aim. "You've just picked on the wrong people."

Hearing that unpleasant tone of Norton's, Brandon snapped out of his trance and seize the old mobster by his wrist. _No more bloodshed, please._

Norton's hand wrestled with Brandon's, but the necrolyzer's grip remained firm. His free hand tried to pry it open to no avail. "Don't you want to teach this man a lesson?"

Brandon shook his head. "Let's listen to him."

"Saving me from a bullet, huh? As if that's gonna make me buy what Sara has said about you." The man's spit struck Brandon in the head.

Mika screamed at this, bolting towards Brandon's lap to snatch one of his Cerberus handguns. Brandon's grip on Norton loosened, and his jaw dropped. Where did her strength come from? Even grown-up men couldn't lift his gun without a fuss.

"That's not his fault!" she roared, pointing the gun at the offender. A gunshot rang, and the bullet grazed the man's shoulder. "He did what he thought would be the best for Mrs. Sara and Dr. Charles!"

"Charles' death was still why Sara died," the man rebutted calmly, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "Yesterday, she came across a big grey dog. But she didn't run. She just waited for the dog to chomp her down." Sympathy accompanied his voice. "Dr. Charles is her only son. His death will surely affect that lonely seventy-year-old granny."

Mika's arms quivered, and the gun slipped out of her hands. Before it crushed her feet, Brandon swiped it and placed it back on his lap.

"Doesn't mean that Dr. Charles can run away from his punishment. He created these dogs and killed many people," Norton explained, pointing at Brandon. "Honestly, this necrolyzer had shown him the mercy he never deserved. Yet you idiots still believed that he'd done something unforgivable." He sighed. "If I were to guess why Sara acted like that, I wouldn't say it was because of her inability to accept her son's death." However, the man had slammed the window shut before Norton finished his speech.

"Then why?" Mika asked.

"Dr. Charles kept his mother fed with his income. If he died, how could his mother eat? She was too old to earn a living."

 _Sara welcomed death because she knew she didn't have much time left_ , Brandon concluded. And he smiled, realizing that at least, the family had died in peace.

When he looked up, he saw two white butterflies flying across the horizon.

* * *

"According to the lab, the hellhounds have less than twenty-four hours to live." William removed the soaked bandage from Brandon's right thigh, exposing a large, centipede-like wound. "Life is short, huh?"

Lying on his bed, Brandon nodded. How many had died in these few days? Arnold, Charles, Sara, that nasty homeowner, and many Millennion guardsmen... What about the civilians? Those dogs must've shredded many unfortunate people out there.

_Death is everywhere._

Suddenly, he heard some footsteps from the bathroom behind. Mika, now clad in a grey house dress, walked towards his bed and looked into his eye with a smile.

At the sight of his child, Brandon couldn't help but reach out his hand to pat her head. How grateful he was, to have a hale and hearty Mika still standing by him despite the recent turmoil.

 _I'll protect her at all costs,_ he said in his heart _. All living things would die someday, but if I could prevent premature deaths, why wouldn't I do it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caught the reference to Digimon Adventure here?


End file.
